


dying is easy, living is harder

by princessoftheworlds



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Allusions to PTSD, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Pining, Recovery, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:22:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18652819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Ten years after a devastating war, the wizarding community has rebuilt, but one witch and one wizard remain trapped in the wreckage.On one edge of London, Curse-breaker Daisy Johnson drifts wherever the job takes her; resigned to life as a recluse, she’s long since cut ties with her family, her friends, and her future.On the other side of the city, James Barnes has renounced his name and shunned his past, including his magic, grinding through a mundane existence deep in Muggle London.When James encounters Daisy in a pub, they begin a sexual relationship founded on shared demons, but the no-strings arrangement eventually gives way to something deeper. Together, Daisy and James' feelings for each other won't be a cure-all—but they may be enough to help two broken people begin to piece themselves together again.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my contribution to the Marvel TV Bang 2019! It was a fun couple of months writing this! I would like to thank my artist [marleymortis](http://marleymortis.tumblr.com/) and my other cheerleader [jaune-chat](https://jaune-chat.tumblr.com/). Of course, all my gratitude for my friend A for betaing. 
> 
> This fic is a culmination of my rarepair of DaisyBucky (aka WinterQuake) and several months of work and editing. At about 55K, it is the longest fic I've ever written, and I hope people enjoy it. The art, an extra edit, and the remaining chapters will be finished posting by May 6.

**DAILY PROPHET**

 

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

 

A Decade Later: How The Wizarding Community Rebuilt From The Ashes

 

Eleven years ago, on Christmas morning, British wizards and witches awoke to a horrifying message broadcast over the radio, sent through anonymous Howlers, and written in our very own  _ Daily Prophet _ : “Out of the shadows and into the light.” Unknown to most, the message was an order from Hydra, a Wizarding terrorist group that seemed to emerge overnight, intent on smiting any Muggle presence from our community. Hydra’s sleeper agents did indeed make their way into the light; they were our husbands, our wives, our best friends, our neighbors, our co-workers, our cousins, but we didn’t know it at first.

 

Then came the first attack. Just days into 2008, on January 5, Hydra attacked several prominent Ministry of Magic officials in their own homes; among the deceased were Head Auror Jeffrey Mace, his wife, and their five children, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Rosalind Price, and Victoria Hand from the Department of Magical International Cooperation and her wife Isabelle Hartley. Found hovering above each home was a shadowy symbol of the multi-headed mythological Hydra. 

 

In the months that followed, the Hydra-branded terrorist group became the omen of dread and terror. Everyone’s worst fear was returning home and finding the Hydra hovering over their roof, a phobia not alleviated by the increase in frequency and severity of Hydra attacks on the unsuspecting public. Known Muggle sympathizers and Muggleborn wizards and witches disappeared off the streets every day, and Hydra agents worked with such efficiency and secrecy that there was no one to point fingers at. Dozens of wealthy Wizarding families fled to France or the United States, hoping to wait out the violence. 

 

The worst strike came a week before Easter when Hydra launched simultaneous raids on Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry of Magic, racking up a death toll of over fifty and overwhelming the wards of St. Mungo’s Hospital. Former Minister of Magic Nick Fury has since stated that the damage from these attacks, both emotional and physical, is unfathomable.

 

Hydra’s tactics were not only brutal and savage but also aberrant and irregular. Hydra agents seemed to favor chaos, violence, and destruction, not shying away from the use of the Unforgivables alongside the common Exploding Charm. Besides their large-scale raids, they also led smaller, targeted attacks on Wizarding neighborhoods containing only a few individuals. One Hydra agent, known only as the Winter Soldier, is thought to be responsible for the deaths of over fifty wizards and witches, including famed Potioneers Howard and Maria Stark. Though his reign of bloodshed lasted only a few months, the Winter Soldier was never captured after the fall of Hydra and remains little more than a ghost story due to his rumored skill with the Disillusionment Charm.

 

Just as all hope seemed lost, six Hogwarts seventh-years emerged as unlikely heroes, uncovering a massive plot twenty years in the making that would devastate and destroy the Wizarding community as we knew it. These students, the saviors that the public would come to call the Avengers, were not friends; some were not even housemates. They all simply shared a mutual dislike for famed Transfiguration professor and Head of Slytherin House Alexander Pierce, a man we would later come to know as the mastermind behind Hydra.

 

Gryffindor Steve Rogers, nicknamed the Captain as a reference to his position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and his Head Boy status, found the professor’s favoritism towards even the dullest of his Slytherins unjust and bigoted. His teammate and fellow Gryffindor Thor Odinson grew suspicious of Pierce’s abrupt interest in Odinson’s immensely talented brother Loki, whose association with Hydra still lingers in the public eye despite their family’s distinguished background. Clint Barton, Hufflepuff and magical creatures aficionado, sought revenge against the professor who penalized Barton for attempting to raise a mooncalf inside the Room of Requirement. Recently orphaned Ravenclaw Tony Stark and his housemate Bruce Banner were enraged by Pierce’s callousnesses at their classmates’ grief. Finally, Slytherin Natasha Romanoff, a Defense Against the Dark Arts prodigy, became mistrustful of the close interactions that Pierce shared with some of her housemates.

 

Despite their own individual pursuits against Alexander Pierce and house rivalries, the six Avengers came together when they accidentally uncovered Pierce’s identity as the leader of Hydra in early April. As Rogers and the rest would later recount, they immediately knew they had to tell a professor, to tell someone, but they weren't sure who they could trust. If their own professor was a terrorist, there was no telling which students or other professors he had brought into Hydra. The Avengers’ only hope was to get a message to Minister Fury himself, hoping that Fury would look past his decades-old friendship with Pierce.

 

Everything came crashing down when Pierce discovered that he had been found out and retaliated by ordering a strike on Hogwarts itself on April 3. Chaos ensued. Students turned on each other, and professors became unreliable as Hydra agents bombarded the castle with spells. Inside, the Avengers organized their friends and teammates into a resistance group with Rogers leading the strike against Pierce. While Stark and Banner worked to strengthen the castle’s defenses, an invisible Romanoff snuck through the castle to reach the Headmaster’s office, hoping to deliver a message to Minister Fury through the Floo Network. As Barton struggled to evacuate the younger students to Hogsmeade undetected through the castle’s secret passages, Odinson and fellow students set traps across the school to distract students allied with Hydra.

 

Despite Alchemy professor Arnim Zola, Potions professor and Head of Ravenclaw House Daniel Whitehall, and Ancient Runes professor John Garrett siding with Pierce, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and Head of Gryffindor House Phil Coulson led his Gryffindors and students from his dueling club SHIELD into battle alongside the Avengers, backed by Charms professor Melinda May and Muggle Studies professor and Head of Hufflepuff House Rick Stoner. When Hogwarts’ Headmaster Chester Phillips perished in one of the early waves of battle, Professor Coulson assumed the role of interim Headmaster, a position that would be become permanent until he stepped down three years ago. 

 

The battle that would later be deemed the Battle of Hogwarts raged for more than twelve perilous hours, from late evening to the early morning of April 4. The Avengers’ message had reached the Minister, who had arrived outside the gates of Hogwarts within minutes with an army of Aurors and volunteer fighters. Any victory outside, however, would be futile if the Avengers didn’t succeed inside and Pierce gained full control of the castle, and thus, Rogers masterminded a strategy poised to be the resistance’s only hope. 

 

A true Gryffindor, Rogers made his way to the Great Hall where Hydra had set up base and confronted Pierce while the Avengers forced the Hogwarts’ gates open, allowing Minister Fury to enter. The final confrontation through the castle lasted an hour as both sides received backup from outside. The Minister engaged Pierce in a historic duel that ultimately ended with Pierce dead from his own backfired spell. Within moments, the battle was over, and more forces from the Ministry swarmed the castle, arresting hordes of Hydra supporters.

 

Despite the victory, it all wasn’t over yet. Many students remained missing, and the survivors searched the castle for the injured. Among the dead were Professor Rick Stoner, Deputy Minister of Magic Maria Hill, Headmaster Chester Phillips, and many, many more. For many witches and wizards, the defeat of Hydra cost them everything. 

 

In the aftermath, Aurors hunted down the escaped Hydra agents, many of whom took their own lives to avoid capture. Those who had been arrested at the Battle of Hogwarts were immediately sentenced to Azkaban, including Pierce’s devoted Slytherins. The mass hunt for Hydra supporters was made difficult by Hydra’s reliance on the Imperius Curse to indoctrinate or brainwash their opponents, but an improved Veritaserum developed by Stark and Banner eased the process slightly. 

 

As the Wizarding community began to rebuild, Hogwarts resumed session after a month with Professor Coulson becoming permanent Headmaster. The Avengers graduated and were each awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class from Minister Fury. Rogers and Odinson became Aurors, Romanoff and Barton joined the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Stark assumed control of his recently deceased parents’ business Stark Industries, and Banner went on to intern at St. Mungo’s Hospital. 

 

In the years since, the Avengers’ celebrity has only grown. Stark’s wedding to his longtime girlfriend Pepper Potts was one of the most widely attended events of 2015. Banner has since founded the Hulk Initiative, a nonprofit aimed that helping young Muggleborn witches and wizards with explosive accidental magic problems gain control before they arrive at Hogwarts. Odinson inherited a position on Wizengamot after his father Odin’s ill-timed death and now is on track to becoming the youngest Minister of Magic ever, working under Robert Gonzales who has been Minister since Fury’s retirement in 2012.  Barton remains a high-ranking official in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and was briefly married in 2013 to a Muggleborn witch named Laura. Romanoff moved to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and works at a position of authority, though little is known about her to the public as she remains one of the most secretive Avengers. Finally, Rogers became the youngest ever Head Auror earlier this year. In February, he announced his engagement to his girlfriend of nine years, Headmistress Peggy Carter of Hogwarts, who made history for her appointment as both the youngest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at age twenty and the youngest chief administrator of Hogwarts at age twenty-four.

  
As we watch the Avengers progress through life, we cannot help but be reminded of the young age at which they were thrust into war. They serve as a testimonial that there will always be resistance when evil and darkness come knocking on the magical world’s door. Tyrants fear the people they oppress.  All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there are sure to be those who rise against them and strike back , which is what the Wizarding world did when Hydra rained chaos and bloodshed upon us all. 


	2. Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up from a nightmare, Daisy flees to a bar where she meets a familiar stranger from her past. Sex ensues.

_“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Ward! Fuck. We’re killing our friends, our classmates, people we’ve known our entire lives.”_

 

_The shout floats out from an empty alcove tucked along the castle walls, and Daisy, who had been tiptoeing down the hallway on her way back from the kitchens, stiffens at the sound of the familiar name. She moves closer to the alcove, straining her ears._

 

_“Calm down, Von Strucker, or you’ll bring the whole fucking castle down on us. Look, Pierce knows what he’s doing. It’s only a few more weeks anyways. Then, we won’t have to worry about the fucking Mudbloods.”_

 

 _Grant Ward, Daisy’s Transfiguration tutor, friend, and one time crush, is a_ Hydra sympathizer _? As the blood in her veins turns icy, Daisy presses her lips together tightly in a desperate effort to stay silent. She presses herself closer to the cold stone of the wall, attempting to peer around the corner and grab a glimpse of Ward’s hidden friend._

 

_“You better be fucking right about that, Ward. Hail Hydra!”_

 

_The “Hail Hydra” that Ward responds with is the final nail in the coffin, and despite her hand flying up to cover her mouth, Daisy cannot stifle her loud gasp._

 

_Thunderous footsteps strike the solid floor as Ward charges around the corner, his friend - revealed to be fifth-year Slytherin Werner von Strucker - following closely behind. The murderous expression on Ward’s face changes to something truly regretful. “I wish you hadn’t heard that, Daisy,” he says, shaking his head. Then his wand swings out to point at Daisy, and her eyes narrow in on his lips shaping the pronunciation of the spell._

 

 _“_ Imperio. _”_

 

* * *

 

 

Daisy sits up in bed with a jolt, heart hammering louder than the Muggle jackhammer she once saw out on the streets of London. Before her brain can process it, she is up on her feet in a defensive pose, fingers grasped firmly around the wand she has just swiped from her bedside table.

 

Thankfully, her brain comes back online when she’s moments away from blasting another hole in her wall, which is wonderful because she doesn’t know how much more her landlord will tolerate. She’s only been living here for about a year, having been forced to abandon her previous lease once her landlord grew frustrated of her using _Reparo_ on every available surface in her apartment; she doesn’t want to risk this apartment too.

 

It’s not the nightmares. Although her reactions to them remain automatic and violent, the nightmares themselves have been far less in number and frequency in the last few years; in fact, before today, the last one she had was four months ago.

 

No, most of the damage to her apartment occurs as a side effect of her job; part of being a Curse-breaker for Gringotts, especially one who specializes in seismic-related curses, means that she’s also bringing some of her work home. Of course, it also means that she’s travelling a lot, and having just returned from a trip to the States and finally spending the first night in two weeks in her own bed could explain the nightmare.

 

Still, Daisy would have thought that the nightmares would have vanished by now, ten years after the war. At least, that’s what the Healer that Coulson had made her see afterwards said every session until Daisy stopped showing up after six months.

 

The nightmare isn’t always the same every time, shifting from memory to memory and moment to moment in the war like a fish flicking through water. Every time, however, she wakes up violently; then, just like now, the forgotten shame and guilt and terror and horror comes flooding back, and she wonders _how did she ever manage to forget what she did, the horrors she’s responsible for, the lives she took_.

 

Daisy shudders and lowers her wand, breathing slowly and counting down from five to slow her heartbeat. She scrunches her eyes closed, and _she can’t get the image of Fitz’s broken body crushed under the rubble of the castle wall that Daisy’s_ Bombarda _destroyed._

 

Clearly, it’s going to be one of those long-suffering, haunted days, just as every day that Daisy wakes from a nightmare is.

 

With a sigh, she tucks her wand into the elastic band of her leggings and wanders off in search of something to eat in her dusty kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

The firewhisky sears Daisy’s throat as she guzzles it down, causing a burning heat to begin from her chest and lungs and spread throughout her body. Many other witches and wizards have claimed that firewhisky dispels their numbness and sense of unreality and fires them with something that is like courage, but Daisy has never, ever felt that before, however much she wishes that that was the case.

 

Instead, the liquor is good enough to bring some life and warmth back to her body that leaves the nerve ends in her fingertips tingling. It also leaves her with a bit of a buzz that muddles her thoughts and keeps her mind from playing a medley of _dead Lincoln_ , _comatose Fitz, dead Ward_ on a loop.

 

Not that she regretted Ward. When she slipped into bed at night for the first few months after the war, that was the death that brought her the least bit of restlessness.

 

With a loud thunk, Daisy drops the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky, still half full, to the bar top, tracing the wooden grains of the surface with her fingernails. She sighs. Today was a hard day, which was to be expected from the moment she woke up from the nightmare, but she forgot how hard it always was to shove the memories away, to bring her focus to the task at hand. She used to be really good at that at Hogwarts; it was ingrained in her after the first few years that she can remember at Saint Agnes Orphanage. Daisy lost that skill shortly after the war.

 

The doors of the pub creak open, and Daisy whirls around in surprise, hand immediately flying to her wand tucked in her combat boot. Part of it is the battle-forged instinct that never disappeared, retained by the tricky and somewhat dangerous aspects of her job, but the rest is the looming violence from her haunting memories. However, it is only a wizard entering the mostly empty pub and approaching the bartender not too far from Daisy. Like Daisy, he’s clad in dark, inconspicuous Muggle clothing, brown hair falling loosely in his face to conceal his general features.

 

“One bottle of Ogden’s Old,” the wizard requests, tapping the bar top lightly to gain the bartender’s attention before dropping a Sickle onto the surface. Something about his voice - the timbre or the rough undertone of it, Daisy doesn’t know - causes her to glance at him just as he grabs the bottle the bartender’s handing him.

 

Their gazes meet briefly, brown striking stormy, and Daisy flinches back slightly, refocusing her eyes on the bottle.

 

The wizard’s eyes are the same precise shade of blue as Lincoln’s. Lincoln, who should have been working as a Healer at St. Mungo’s now. Lincoln, who was supposed to be with Coulson on the other side of the castle. Lincoln, whom she murdered ruthlessly.

 

Daisy sticks out her hand and Summons the firewhisky, wandless and wordless, the bottle colliding with her palm with a loud smack. She drains the bottle dry, tipping her head back to swallow the last remaining drops.

 

If she were still in the States, she would apparate to some random field in bumfuck, Iowa and _Bombarda_ the fuck outta the ground; it was the speciality spell that had earned her the moniker Quake during Coulson’s classes back at Hogwarts.

 

“Gotta keep the demons at bay,” the wizard jokes wryly, having moved to a seat not too from Daisy’s while she finished her drink. The slightest bit of sympathy in his tone has her sneaking another glance at him while she hums in agreement. He adds, “I could see a bit of it in your eyes when you looked at me.” He gestures to his own drink. “Firewhisky only works as a temporary solution.”

 

Internally groaning, Daisy Vanishes her bottle. “Decided to talk to the random witch in the pub, didn’t you,” she mutters lowly, knowing well and clear that he can hear her.

 

“Decided to talk to the random witch in the pub who has an expression I’ve seen on myself frequently,” he corrects her.

 

This captures her attention, and she turns to gaze at him before doing a double take.

 

“ _Bucky Barnes_?”

 

* * *

 

 

_When Daisy had first received her Hogwarts letter, she was disbelieving. Not about the magic or witch part. She always knew about that; her pureblood mother and NoMaj-born father had informed her well before they died  - in a car accident, the most NoMaj fate of all for a wizard and witch - when she was five and she ended up at Saint Agnes. No, she was surprised by the school itself. Cal and Jiaying Johnson had always talked about the famed international Wizarding school, but Daisy had, uptil now, remained under the impression that she would be attending Ilvermorny like her parents. Then Professor Melinda May had shown up to Saint Agnes and explained how her parents had opted for her name to be inscribed in Hogwarts’ enrollment book when she was born._

 

_So late August, she flew to London, and on September 1, she boarded the Hogwarts Express and settled into an empty cabin. Ten minutes later, a curly-haired Scottish boy and a bookish brunette Brit joined her, and thus, Daisy made her first friends. Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons had only met a few minutes previous on Platform 9 ¾, but they were already rapidly debating about wand theory that Daisy didn't understand. Then, Simmons turned to her and asked her wand core to prove her own point, and their friendship was sealed._

 

_Of course, both Fitz and Simmons were Sorted into Ravenclaw, but when Daisy herself anxiously sat at the Gryffindor table following her own Sorting, she struck up a conversation with fellow first-year Elena Rodriguez. Then, the Gryffindor prefects arrived to show them to their Gryffindor Tower, and her chattering with Elena ceased._

 

_While the other girls in her dormitory - Elena, Okoye, Misty Knight, and Valkyrie - slipped into their respective beds and were out like a light, Daisy drew the curtains around her own four-poster bed shut tightly and sat up against the pillows. Sleep came reluctantly, and when it did, she slept fretfully in the unfamiliar bed, jerking awake only a few hours later. She checked the little enchanted clock she had bought in Diagon Alley - with Sickles from the vault in Gringotts that she never knew her parents left her, and it was a little past midnight._

 

_With a sigh, Daisy threw the thick, warm covers off her body and slid from the bed as quietly as she could; having already shared a room with three girls back at Saint Agnes had made her sneaky and swift, almost like a ninja. She slowly pushed the curtains aside and squeezed through the small gap she had created, sticking her feet in her slippers. Tiptoeing carefully across the solid stone of the dormitory floor, she reached the door and pulled it lightly shut behind her._

 

_Creeping down the stone stairs, Daisy entered the Common Room. She had passed through it only a few hours ago, barely giving it a glance. Now, she stands at the foot of the stairs and takes in every detail - the squashy chairs and thick rugs, the beautifully-woven tapestries and paintings on the wall, the bookshelves crammed full, the mahogany tables, and the impressive fireplace taking up one full wall. Everything is done in rich shades of red and gold with little lions hidden everywhere imaginable; there’s even a warm fire crackling in the fireplace._

 

 _It all looks cozy and inviting and warm, yet Daisy feels a bit detached from this enormous, cluttered Common Room that’s supposed to be her home for the next seven years. As she was in the boat, floating through the Black Lake towards the castle, Fitz, Simmons, and the other first-years were_ oohing _and_ ahhing _at the sight of Hogwarts silhouetted against the starry night sky; all Daisy saw was a big, drafty castle._

 

_She knows why, of course. She grew up moving from place to place, because her dad was a doctor and her mother was a Wizarding diplomat. Despite being born in Milwaukee, Daisy had lived in both Los Angeles and New York before her parents died when she was five. Then she spent a few years bouncing from foster family to foster family in New York, always returning to Saint Agnes whenever she had settled in or thought she had found her forever family. By ten, the nuns had her tagged as a tough kid with a stony exterior and mostly left her alone. With her history, Daisy’s had a hard time calling anywhere home, which is why she will likely be slow to warm to Hogwarts._

 

_With a sigh and bleary eyes, Daisy creeps forward until she can throw herself into a squashy chair before the fire, sticking out her frosty hands to warm by its heat. Surprisingly, she finds that she’s not the only one in the Common Room; there’s a dark-haired boy at least a head taller than her slouched back against his own chair. She just didn’t see him since he was hidden by a chair._

 

_The boy glances up at Daisy with a curious expression; he must be a second-year or third-year, because he doesn’t look that much older than her. She also didn’t see him come in with the rest of the first-years._

 

_“You must be a firstie,” he jokes with a pleasant smile. “You’ve got that look about you. A little starry-eyed.” His accent is American, with just a hint of New York, a fact that Daisy observes but doesn’t know what to make of._

 

_He doesn’t sound mean, just friendly, so Daisy nods in response. “Yeah,” she murmurs, eyes to the ground. “I couldn’t sleep.”_

 

_“The castle is pretty different,” the boy says, nodding. “You'll get used to it eventually, I’m sure. I did.” He catches her inquisitive gaze and adds, “I’m a second-year.” A beat. “I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”_

 

_“Daisy Johnson,” she replies, and he smiles. Daisy’s eleven and has seen other girls at the orphanage gush about cute boys and their crushes; she’s never had one herself, but Bucky’s smile has dimples, and it’s pretty nice. “It’s so much bigger and older than anything I’ve seen in New York. That’s where I’m from.” She smiles tightly to keep a sudden yawn from escaping. It’s been a long day._

 

_Bucky’s eyes light up. “Me too. Where in New York? I’m from Brooklyn. Red Hook to be exact.”_

 

_That explains the roughness to his accent, Daisy decides. She hesitates before speaking. “I’m from Manhattan. Grew up in Saint Agnes Orphanage.” She can see the exact moment his smile dims and knows that this is going to go, how every other time she tried to make friends at school when she was younger had gone._

 

_Bucky Barnes surprises her, however. “I think that's where the Gryffindor prefect last year was from. His name's Matt Murdock; he graduated since he was a seventh-year, but if you want to send him a letter or something, I'm sure someone knows how to contact him. I can ask around,” he says excitedly before catching a glimpse of Daisy’s wide-eyed expression. He then falters, “Only if you want to, of course.”_

 

_“That,” she begins slowly, “would be kinda nice.” A long, drawn-out pause. “Thank you.”_

 

_“My pleasure.” Bucky smiles, collapsing back against the soft fabric of the couch. “Have you made any friends yet?”_

 

_“One or two,” Daisy replies, thinking of Fitz and Simmons, “but they're in Ravenclaw.”_

 

_“Oh.” Bucky winces slightly. “I'm sorry. I got lucky; my best friend Stevie was Sorted into Gryffindor with me. You might see him around. He's short and skinny but loud and always getting into fights.” Daisy doesn't know what he thinks he sees in her expression, but he hastily continues, tone a bit sterner. “Don't judge him, alright? He only ever fights the bullies who pick on first-years or Muggleborns.”_

 

_“I'm not,” Daisy tries to say reassuringly but ends up yawning again. “Judging him, I mean. That's brave.”_

 

_“Well, that's why Stevie’s a Gryffindor.” Bucky laughs, observing Daisy carefully. “Looks like you're finally getting sleepy.”_

 

_“Yeah,” she replies, rubbing her eyes slightly with her fists. “I think I'm going to go to bed. Thank you for talking to me.”_

 

_“You're welcome!” he says. “Good night.”_

 

_“Good night,” she tells him with a small smile._

 

_Daisy’s beginning to trudge slowly up the stairs when Bucky calls after her._

 

_“Daisy, wait!” he cries, and she turns around to look back at him, bewildered._

 

_“Yeah?” she asks._

 

_He stands up. “Hey, next time you can't sleep, sneak out to the kitchens. The entrance is in the basement. You'll find a painting of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear, and it'll turn into a handle and open. The house elves can make you a cup of hot cocoa or something.”_

 

 _“Huh.” That sounds really nice, and Daisy wants to try that. “Thank you,” she tells him again before continuing up the stairs. She barely manages to hear his_ “You're welcome” _echo up to her._

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, uh, I go by James now,” he says, visibly shrinking in on himself. He squints at her like he's trying to place her.

 

“Daisy,” she explains, “Daisy Johnson. I was in Gryffindor with you,  though I'm a year younger.”

 

James still looks vaguely confused and bewildered in a way Daisy understands. Her day too has spun into something she didn't anticipate with the reappearance of an old classmate.

 

“Wait,” he says, like he finally recognizes her. “Daisy Johnson. I do remember you. I helped you sneak out to Hogsmeade that one time.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” she blurts out, the memory emerging of having detention in fourth-year and being jealous of Fitz, Simmons, and Yo-Yo getting to go to Hogsmeade. She'd been fuming and had run into a sick Bucky - no, James - in the hallway.  He'd shown her a secret passage behind a statue of an one-eyed witch, all while sniffling and coughing. “I'd forgotten about that.”

 

“What are you doing at a random pub in London?” he asks. “Haven't seen you here before.”

 

“Keeping my demons at bay,” she replies, her tone dry but also slightly flirty. Barnes may not be the clean-cut, bright-eyed, charming boy he was at Hogwarts, but he's scruffy and beefier with the same high cheekbones and nice lips, and Daisy still has eyes. Besides, some sex might be enough to get her out of her head for the rest of the night, and James does edge slightly closer at her tone like he's interested. “I live nearby,” she says plainly. “Besides, it's my first day back in town after a few weeks.”

 

“Business or pleasure?” he inquires, tilting his head in a way that reminds Daisy oddly of a cat.

 

“Business,” Daisy sighes. She can't remember the last time she took a vacation - or at least wanted to.

 

“Anywhere exciting?”

 

She shakes her head. “Just the States. Chicago. I'm a Curse-breaker with Gringotts, and the goblins wanted a witch or wizard to examine a newly-uncovered vault in some historical building for curses. I think they were hoping for gold.”

 

He laughs lowly. “Goblins and their gold.” His gaze, fixed on her, becomes assessing. “Aren't you from New York?”

 

“Haven't been back for years beside the occasional business trip. My life is here,” she says, not believing her own words. Even without nightmares and days like today, she goes days where she doesn't see anything but the inside of her apartment. She never goes to Diagon Alley, preferring to order everything by owl. The last time she talked to a friend was three years ago. Every time April 4 rolls around, she drinks herself into a stupor. She doesn't truly have a life.

 

James must be able to sense her spiraling, because he nudges her slightly on the knee, drawing her gaze towards him. “Did you ever find gold in that vault?”

 

“Huh,” Daisy replies before shaking her head like it will clear her mind. “Oh, in Chicago? Nah. Just a bunch old spell books that were rumored to have belonged to some of the witches in Salem. The goblins were disappointed. Last I heard, the books were being sent to the MACUSA.”

 

James straightens up, interest gleaming in his eyes, and Daisy vaguely remembers that he was one of the few students actually interested in History of Magic back at Hogwarts.

 

“What do you do?” she asks, abruptly realizing that she's been the one talking this entire time while James quietly asks questions.

 

Now, he looks flustered, worrying away at his bottom lip with his teeth. “It's not that interesting or exciting as being a Curse-breaker,” he deflects at first. As Daisy leans forward slightly, smiling reassuringly, he sighs. “I work freelance as a book editor.”

 

“Hey,” she says, “that is kinda cool though. A lot of people in the Wizarding community need spell check or something. I edited some of my friends’ writing at Hogwarts, and sometimes their ideas did not transfer well to paper.”

 

His eyes scrunch up as he laughs again. “Tell me about it. Some of these wizards and witches whose works I read and edit have the writing level of a Muggle high schooler. It's almost painful.”

 

“Thankfully, I don't have to write any reports for Gringotts,” Daisy jokes, inching the tiniest bit closer to James. “The goblins wouldn't read them anyway.”

 

“Where else have you been?” James asks. “For work, I mean.”

 

“I spent a little time in Egypt,” Daisy begins. “Lived there for a few months before bouncing around part of Asia. Spent about a year in China. A little bit around Europe. It was like six years of travelling.”

 

James leans in closer, interested, hooking his foot around his stool to drag it closer to Daisy’s. Inspired, she goes as far as to whip out an anecdote from her time in Egypt that she likes to imagine would make good party conversation - that is, if she ever was invited to and attended parties - to impress.

 

As soon as she finishes her account - which involves a nasty Babbling Curse, a tomb, and a sphinx, James asks a question about her goblin superiors at Gringotts, leading them to a long conversation about more details of her travels. It remains the longest she’s talked to someone in a while.

 

The next time Daisy glances up, the bartender’s magically directing rags to clean a few beer mugs and to wipe down the counter. He makes eye contact with her and jerks his head to gesture towards the door.

 

“Looks like it’s closing time,” she says to James, who chuckles. Just then, she realizes exactly just how close they are to each other, heads bowed together like they’re in their own bubble despite being the only two patrons in the pub. Despite herself, she blushes.

 

James hesitates briefly before swallowing, visibly straightening and squaring his shoulders. He keeps his tone unassuming and relaxed. “Would you like to get out of here?”

 

* * *

 

 

After a frantic Apparition and a heady makeout session that left her neck splattered with blue and purple bruises from James’ mouth, Daisy finds herself desperately collapsed against the headboard of her bed, James’ head buried between her thighs. Her underwear lies abandoned at the foot of her bed from when he enthusiastically Summoned it, and her hands are fisted tightly in her sheets, clenching tighter with each stroke of his tongue.

 

James wickledly alternates between peppering soft kisses against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs that has Daisy uttering small squeals - noises that she never admit to making - or sucking hard bruises that trail up from the skin above her knee towards her pussy and only succeed in making her wetter. When James’ lips linger a bit too long on her skin, Daisy reaches her hand, wobbling slightly, and swats him gently on the head. “Put your mouth on my pussy, you coward,” she demands, voice rising into a bit of a whine.

 

He snorts amusedly against her inner thigh but, boy, does he ever comply. His tongue’s first stroke against her clit has Daisy crying out loudly. He continues to just lavish the lips of her pussy with attention, switching between fast and hard and slow and soft, and she arches her back with pleasure, writhing in her sheets.

 

As James gently sucks on Daisy’s clit, her legs, spread wide and feet planted on her bed to allow space for James, wobble, her knees slipping. She whimpers helplessly, urging him to continue.

 

Dragging his tongue across her lips on final time as Daisy twitches and curls and uncurls her hands into claws in her her sheets, James shoves his tongue deep into the folds of her pussy and twists it. Finally, he delivers one final lick with his clever tongue to her clit and inner lips before lifting his head from between her thighs, his mouth smeared with her wetness.

 

Daisy groans in disappointment, but James licks his lips before straightening up to kiss her. He pulls back when she’s only the slightest bit dizzy and breathless from their kiss. “Patience,” he tells her with a smirk, and it’s the closest he’s resembled his Hogwarts-era self this entire evening, giving Daisy whiplash for a moment.

 

“Asshole,” she murmurs, knowing full well that he can hear her.

 

James chuckles and hovers above her just to tease her. Then he finally lowers himself back between Daisy’s legs, however, this time he doesn’t use his mouth. He brings his hand up and lightly presses a finger against her clit before slowly increasing the pressure until it’s almost unbearable for Daisy, and she whines.

 

Flicking his fingers against her pussy causes her to squeal in surprise, and her knees jerk. Finally, James spares her and eases one finger into her, and she clenches down on it, but his finger is unyielding inside her, causing her to groan in protest. “Move,” she demands, but he doesn’t.

 

As if to infuriate her even more, James lightly draws his thumb over her pussy, teasing her folds slowly as she keens. He prolongs her suffering for one more immortal minute before curving his finger _just so_ in a way that silences her train of thoughts and draws a moan from her.

 

“Merlin,” Daisy cries, helpless as he shoves another finger into her. James scissors her with savage intent; all she can see are bright white explosions every time his fingers bump inside her and her eyes flutter shut.

 

He pulls his fingers out, and she cries out; she feels _so empty_ , but he’s merciful, thrusting them back in quickly and causing her to moan again. He scissors them again, thumb rubbing her clit with a fervid intensity. The lust and pleasure overwhelms her brain and body again, and it’s this combination of his fingers inside her and the constant pressure at her sensitive clit that has her climaxing.

 

Daisy’s back arches up slightly as her hand curls back into fists in her sheets. Her knees tremble, and her mind whites out from the pleasure. She screams out James’ name before slumping back down against the bedsheets, body lax and boneless.

 

Sometime during her orgasm, James has pulled out his fingers, but he still hasn’t come. His cock is flushed and standing erect with drops of precome pearling at the slit as he strokes himself.

 

Lazily, Daisy lifts her head and nods toward James. “Want me to help you out there?” she drawls.

 

For all the fervour with which he made her orgasm, James is a bit more reluctant when it comes to himself and her reciprocating, shouldering slumping and lips pressing together. “I mean, if you want to,” he hesitates, but Daisy stretches up to kiss him quickly.

 

“Of course!” she says. “It’s only fair.” She reaches towards him, and he spreads his legs a little to accommodate her.

 

Before she touches his cock, he bites his lip sheepishly. “Do you have lube or anything?” he asks, blushing. “It would make this more comfortable.”

 

Daisy rocks back, bewildered for a moment, before her brain comes back online. “Oh shit, yeah. I’m sorry.” She scrabbles in her sheets for her wand but finds it nowhere. “ _Accio_ lube.”

 

From somewhere in the depths of her apartment, a small bottle of lube comes rocketing towards her, and she grabs before it smacks into her face, popping the lid and pouring a copious amount into her hand before setting the bottle back on her nightstand.

 

With her free hand, she reaches between them and grasps James’ cock. He lets out a whimper as Daisy flicks her thumb across the head. Despite not having done it for a while, she hasn’t forgotten how to give a handjob, so she starts by slowly stroking James. Turns out, his cock is incredibly sensitive, and he nearly whimpers again, so Daisy leans up to kiss him shallowly before lavishing attention on the long, elegant slope of his neck. She brushes her lips gently over his pulse point, trailing down towards his prominent collarbone.  

 

“Fuck,” James sighs, tilting his head to allow Daisy better access to his neck. His groan from her sucking a deep hickey into his skin quickly cuts off when she follows up with a quick nip to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Fuck,” he repeats in alarm, and Daisy, despite herself, giggles.

 

“Is that the only thing you know how to say?” she teases.

 

He stutters out a laugh. “It’s the only thing I can say when you’re holding me like that. Fuck.” With a deep groan, he drops his head in pleasure as Daisy increases the pressure of her grip, speeding up her strokes. “ _Fuck_. I wish I was inside you.”

 

Despite the wetness that begins to pool again in her pussy at his statement, she denies herself the opportunity to reach her spare hand between her legs and rub her clit, figuring that if she initiates a round two, she’ll likely fall asleep in between. Instead, she flicks her thumb across his head again, and James releases a loud shout that makes Daisy glad for the magical soundproofing of her apartment walls.

 

Then with one final twist of Daisy’s hand, James is coming with a strangled yell, head thrown back and eyes rolled back into his head as his cum splatters onto the sheets.

 

When he finally comes back to his sense, he’s breathing quickly. “Merlin,” he groans. “That was…”

 

“Good?” Daisy offers, and James smiles, lighting up his features and making him look more handsome.

 

“I was going to say intense,” he admits, “but we’ll go with good.” He glances up at the clock on Daisy’s apartment wall, and his eyes widen with surprise. “Oh, fuck. It’s late. I should get going. I have an early morning tomorrow.” When Daisy makes to get up, he shakes his head at her. “Don’t bother. I can let myself out.”

 

“Cool,” she murmurs, lazing against her pillows, and leans up as James bends down for a quick but sweet kiss.

 

He gathers his clothing and leaves her bedroom; a moment later, Daisy hears the loud _crack_ that means that he’s Apparated away.

 

Sluggishly, she shoves her dirty sheet to the floor, deciding to wash it tomorrow, and tucks herself under her blanket. She’s had a long day, and the alcohol and orgasm catch up to her, drawing her into a long, deep sleep.


	3. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James reaches out to Daisy after the night they shared together, and they bond but not without ending up in bed together again.

James rises early as the sun’s rays filter in through his flimsy lace curtains and douse his studio apartment - the entire one room that it is, from his bedroom section to his kitchenette - in sunlight. He showers in his tiny bathroom and dresses in jeans and a sweater, dumping last night’s clothes into his laundry hamper. He does most of his chores, including his laundry, Muggle-style since most days he hasn’t got anything better to do, and today will likely be no different.

 

He sits at his desk and pores over the newest batch of manuscripts that his boss mailed him through the Muggle postage, using a red ballpoint pen instead of a quill to make edits since the ink makes everything messy. He only gets through two shorter manuscripts - one author is unnecessarily verbose and the other refuses to use a typewriter and their handwriting is nearly indecipherable - before he hears his next-door neighbor rise and begin to rattle about in her kitchen.

 

This is the price he pays for his cheap, cheap rent that he always pays on time and in pounds. His apartment is smaller than a closet and has paper-thin walls, but he’s deep in Muggle London, hiding in plain sight. All by choice.

 

When James’ stomach rumbles, he’s planning to go looking for toast or something in his own kitchenette when there’s a rapid-fire pecking at the glass of his window.

 

He turns and looks, and there’s a fucking  _ owl  _ waiting for him to let it in, continuing its pecking. “What the  _ fuck _ ?”

 

The owl hoots loudly, and James can hear it through the window, so he hurries to let the owl in before the neighbors can hear it too and start to wonder. It flies in quickly, settling on his desk on top of his pile of manuscripts, as he rams the window shut.

 

The owl opens its beak drops a folded note into his hand before hooting again and glaring at him with baleful black eyes. It’s clearly demanding something, but James doesn’t know what. He hasn’t dealt with owls in a long, long time. He would always borrow a Hogwarts owl or send a response back with his family owl if he wanted to communicate with his parents or Becca.

 

The owl waddles forward to bite at the fingers on his still-outstretched hand, and James hastily snatches his hand back. “ _ Ow _ . Fuck. This is why I don’t like owls.” He glares back at the creature, presuming it wants food based on his limited experience. “I don’t know if I have any food for you,” he tells it.

 

Nonetheless, he disappears into his kitchenette and pulls out an expired packet of biscuits, figuring that the owl won’t judge. He tears it open, dropping one before the bird, who bends to pick it up in its beak. While the owl gnaws on the biscuit, James unfolds the note.

 

_ Fancy lunch at 11? I know a place. _

__ \- Daisy Johnson _ _

 

 

Well, that’s a surprise.

 

For a moment, he hesitates. He hasn’t done something like this. Not in ten years. All skill he had to talk to girls he lost after Hogwarts. Then he remembers the sharpness in Daisy’s brown eyes while she recounted her time abroad, the way she constantly tucked her dark, wavy hair behind her ears, the bitter smile on her lips when she thought he wasn’t looking. With all that in mind, he reaches for his red pen and scribbles out a quick  _ Yes.  _

 

He agonizes over his messy handwriting for a moment, but the owl, long having finished its biscuit, chirps in irritation. So James folds his note and gives it to the owl before standing up to open the windows again.

 

When the owl has flown out and away, James realizes that it left biscuit crumbs everywhere, so he brushes them and the pack of remaining biscuits into his rubbish bin. Then he resumes his work.

 

* * *

  
  


_ “Mr. Barnes,” Professor Zola begins, small, beady eyes flicking between an uncontrollably-dancing Steve Rogers and Bucky with his wand,“detention. Mr. Rogers too.” With a swish of his wand, he lifts the curse off Steve, who immediately sighs and steps towards Bucky. Of course, by now, Rumlow and Rollins are long-gone. _

 

_ A hush falls across the hallway, still crowded from when students flooded in to watch Rumlow attack Steve with a Dancing Feet Spell after Bucky's best friend stopped him and Rollins from picking on a firstie, as eyes turn towards the professor and widen in shock. Bucky, even as only a second-year, has always been considered somewhat of a golden boy, owing likely to his well-known parents - both former MACUSA members - and his status as the youngest Gryffindor Chaser. Although Steve’s always floating in and out of detention - mostly due to Rumlow, Rollins, or their fellow Slytherins, Bucky’s never been in trouble before. _

 

_ “But that’s not fair, Professor” Steve protests, eyebrows furrowing together in indigmation. “Bucky didn’t do anything. He was trying to defend me. It was Rumlow and Rollins who started it. They were picking on a first-year.” _

 

_ “Quiet, Mr. Rogers,” Zola says in that creepy accent of his. “For your griping, you can have more detention and that too, separate from your sidekick. Three times this week in my office. As for you, Mr. Barnes, I want to see you tonight in my laboratory.” _

 

_ Anger flooding him, Bucky frowns. “That’s not fair. Steve’s telling the truth, Professor. Besides, I have Quidditch practice tonight.” _

 

_ Despite being only a few inches taller than Bucky, Zola peers down at him past his thick-lensed glasses. “That is not my problem, Mr. Barnes. Tonight, after dinner, in my laboratory.” He turns and scurries through the hallway as students shift to make room for the rat-like professor.  _

 

_ When the hallway is clear again, Bucky sighs. “I hate Zola,” he grumbles to Steve. “He seems to have some grudge against you and the rest of Gryffindor.” _

 

_ His best friend scowls. “Zola always favors the Slytherins, which doesn’t even make sense. He’s the Head of Ravenclaw House, not Slytherin. Someone’s gotta complain to Fury one day.” _

 

_ Shaking his head, Bucky nudges Steve forward. “Let’s go, Stevie. At least I can eat lunch and finish my homework before I have to slave away for Zola.” _

 

_ “No one ever told me that wizards would be bullies just like NoMaj boys,” Steve grouses as they dawdle towards the Great Hall.  _

 

_ Lunch, although delicious as always, cannot fill the pit of dread slowly burning itself into Bucky’s stomach. His anxiety is not only about missing Quidditch practice - although Gryffindor Captain and one of the two Beaters Dum Dum Dugan will trouble Bucky about it - or detention; being best friends with Steve for almost seven years now meant that he had gotten in trouble once or twice - or more often - back in NoMaj elementary school. Still, Bucky would have hoped that by now, he - and Steve - would have broken that streak.  _

 

_ No, the reason that Bucky is stressing a bit is Zola himself. Rumors float amongst the Gryffindors about some of the creepy experiments that Zola gets up to between classes, and even the older students who take Alchemy as an elective are wary of the professor. _

 

There’s no telling what Zola could have me do _ , Bucky muses as he speeds through an assignment on the Full Body-Bind Curse for Professor Lupin. Besides him, Steve seems to notice his nervous fidgeting and flashes him a reassuring smile, which Bucky barely manages to return. _

 

_ Thankfully, when Bucky finally arrives at Zola’s laboratory - in the dungeon of all places, beside the Slytherin Common Room - for detention, he finds that he’s not alone, and his shoulders relax in relief.  _

 

_ Daisy Johnson, the Gryffindor firstie he remembers from the first night at Hogwarts this year and who he’s also seen around the castle for the last few weeks, is already seated at a large wooden table that completely dwarfs her petite frame. She’s sullenly sorting a tower of dusty papers and glances up when Bucky enters the room. “Bucky?” _

 

_ “The one and only,” he responds as he trots forward and dumps his book bag on the table, giving Daisy a toothy grin, “What did you do to end up here?” _

 

_ She sighs but shoves the papers over to make room for Bucky to sit besides her. “Punched some Ravenclaw for picking on Fitz and Simmons. Apparently, Ravenclaws are ruthless about their grades and didn’t take kindly to both of my friends beating their record score on Pierce’s hardest exam.” She rolls her eyes.  _

 

_ “Argh,” he says sympathetically, pulling his chair close to the table. “That’s rough. So where’s Zola? What are we doing here?” _

 

_ “Don’t bother looking for him,” Daisy tells him. “He told me to explain how to sort these exams based on an unnecessary number of criteria. If we’re not finished by the time he comes back, he’s taking points from Gryffindor.” _

 

_ While that does sound cruel, it still seems a thousand times better than anything Bucky had imagined Zola making him do, so he squares his shoulders. “Alright then, let’s get to work.” _

 

* * *

 

James showers and pulls on jeans before ambling to his dresser and rifling through the drawers. None of the shirts seems to work for a casual lunch. Finally, he pulls on a white t-shirt underneath a flannel shirt, worn open and paired with his leather jacket. He slips his feet in his combat boots and laces them.

 

He’s nearly at the door when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in his refrigerator and pauses to smooth his hair back from his gaunt face. He struggles for a minute with the tangles before scrubbing it all back into a stubby ponytail. 

 

Then as an afterthought, he hurries back to his desk and digs through several drawers until he catches sight of his wand. He weighs it in his grip, unfamiliar and clunky, before slipping it into his boot and finally hurrying out the door.

 

After seven flights of stairs, he’s finally on the street and casts a wary glance around before continuing to a more public place where he is more likely to catch a cab. Last night’s Apparition was more of a necessity than a choice, since he couldn’t really go out in public and hail a cab in the part of London Daisy lived in. James would much rather take a cab now, and so he does so to as close as he can get to the address that Daisy sent back via owl before slipping out, paying the driver, and walking the rest of the way. 

 

The address belongs to a small, witch-owned cafe not too far from the entrance from Diagon Alley. It is this fact that makes James somewhat edgy, his hands curling into fists at his side, but then he spots Daisy waiting outside, and the tension leaves his shoulders. 

 

“Hey,” Daisy calls in a friendly tone as James approaches. Like yesterday, her hair is down, but she’s wearing a nice sweater and boots, and James is immediately glad that he cleaned up much more than he usually does. 

 

“Hey,” James replies when he’s a few feet away before hesitating. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to the woman you hooked up with that you apparently knew a decade ago in school but barely remember because of acute brain damage. So, he settles for a, “You hungry?”

 

“Very.” Daisy laughs. “Wanna get inside?”

 

Wordless, James nods, pulling the glass door open to allow Daisy to enter. He follows closely behind her as the door falls shut at his heels. The cafe is empty and free from the lunch hour rush of wizards and witches, so he situates himself at a table in a corner that has a broad, clear view of the rest of the cafe but is still close to the back exit. Daisy takes a seat in front of him.

 

Directed by the server witch behind the counter, a notepad floats over before stopping at their table, quill poised over the paper to write. Behind the notepad, two menus follow, which they both snatch out of the air and peruse. The quill quickly jots down their respective orders before all items zoom back to settle behind the counter. 

 

James is holding his breath the entire time; he’s done so much the Muggle way for so long that he’s not used to magic, and any kind of it still gets him anxious. It’s part of why he lives in Muggle London. It’s why, when all floating objects are safely behind the counter, his shoulders slump in relief, and he sighs. Thankfully, Daisy is too preoccupied with her glass of water to notice.

 

“So,” Daisy begins, gaze trained on the table, “how was your morning?”

 

He chuckles, grateful that Daisy sounds the slightest bit awkward that he feels. “Not too busy,” he says. “Just editing some manuscripts.”

 

“Was it as bad as you were complaining last night?” Daisy teases, dark eyes flickering.

 

“Nah.” He shakes his head, laughing again. “It just gets kinda hard to read some of it sometimes. I dunno why some wizards and witches refuse to use Muggle technology. Like, typewriters are ancient in Muggle standards, but it makes everything easier to read.” 

 

“Also doesn’t react badly with magic,” Daisy mutters.

 

“You sound kinda bitter,” he prompts, humor propping up the lightness of his tone.

 

“I dunno if you remember,” she begins, treading lightly, “but I grew up in Saint Agnes Orphanage.”

 

At that name, James is struck by a dizzying sense of confusion but also familiarity. A memory surfaces of a young Daisy overwhelmed in a large armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room opposing a second-year version of himself, a fire crackling in the background. “You told me this, he realizes, “at Hogwarts. I offered to put you in contact with Matt Murdock.”

 

Daisy’s eyes narrow in realization as if she too is recalling the memory. “Oh, yeah…” she sighs. “You did offer. And he actually sent me an owl later that week. We sent each other letters that entire year. Thank you for that. It did help.”

 

“You’re welcome.” James grins. “My twelve-year-old self was pretty smart for that offer and appreciates your gratitude. Now, you were telling me about your problem with technology.”

 

Daisy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” She pauses and sighs. “So when I was young, I read a lot of books on computers and coding, and I really liked it. Then someone donated a computer to the orphanage, and I was looking forward to using it. Now, I knew that I was a witch, but no one told me that magic and tech don’t go well together. I’d just powered the computer on when I accidentally blew it up.”

 

“Oh, no.” James winces sympathetically. He's seen examples of what can happen should Muggle technology be in contact with magic. “Ouch.”

 

“Exactly.” Daisy nods. “It wasn’t pretty. Thankfully, there were no other kids around to see what happened, so the American Ministry didn’t have to send any Obliviators or anything. Still, the nuns practically guaranteed that I wasn’t allowed near any technology anymore.” She shrugs. “Joke’s on those nuns though. I don’t need technology anymore.”

 

Just then, like magic -  _ hah _ , two plates come floating their way, settling down gently on the table, so James pulls the plate before him closer before glancing down and frowning. “I don’t think this was my order,” he admits.

 

Daisy examines her own dish. “Hold on. You’re right. That looks like mine.” Wandlessly, she Summons her plate from James’ grip, not noticing how incredibly tense he becomes, before sliding her plate to James. She grabs a fork from the table and begins to eat as he digs into his own food.

 

In between bites, Daisy begins to prompt him for interesting details and tidbits about the different manuscripts he’s edited, and before James knows it, he’s borderline ranting about a wizard who barely understood the rules of grammar. 

 

“He didn’t know the difference between  _ you’re  _ and  _ your _ , which is terrible when you’re writing a children’s book to educate young witches and wizards,” he complains, irritation returning when he recalls some of his correspondence between his boss, this wizard, and him. “Some of them don’t really get any other education besides Hogwarts or whatever school you go to unless you can hire a tutor or get a Muggle primary education.”

 

Daisy is straight-up giggling now, head tossed back and eyes crinkling. 

 

“Hey,” he says with exaggerated seriousness. “The illiteracy of the Wizarding community’s children is no laughing matter.”

 

She only giggles harder, and he too finally breaks down, letting out a few low chuckles of his own.

 

Finally, when they’re both calm and straightened up, Daisy’s expression turns nostalgic. “I went to a public elementary school in Manhattan,” she muses, “with all the kids from the orphanage, so everyone always knew who I was. Despite of that, I still had a very lonely childhood. Doing ‘weird’ things like blowing up the only computer or accidentally turning a nun’s habit blue didn’t put me in anyone’s good graces. Hogwarts is the first place I actually felt was a home and made friends.”

 

James’ lips purse as he glances down at his hands. 

 

Hogwarts meant many things to him throughout his life. Growing up in Brooklyn with the stories of Sarah Rogers and his parents, Steve and he thought that Hogwarts was some kind of magical paradise. When he actually began to attend the school, it was, as Daisy said, a secondary home to him, even more so after Sarah died and his parents divorced. In sixth year, with his Quidditch accident and the events that transpired afterwards, he lost meaning of what Hogwarts was for him. Now, it only serves as a reminder of the war and of his guilt.

 

But, of course, he doesn’t tell any of that to Daisy, his brain damage, the months lost to the blurry haze of  _ Imperio _ , the giant holes in his memory, the blood on his hands. James Barnes is a patchwork quilt, too many torn or frayed edges cinched together and sewn up in an attempt to repair it; he cannot unload that on Daisy Johnson. It won’t cover her or keep her warm; it won’t for anyone.

 

_ Damn _ , _ Barnes _ , he thinks ruefully.  _ You’re getting sentimental _ .

 

It seems that Daisy has noticed his silence, so she slides a hand over, placing it over his, her skin oddly warm against his own. James nearly flinches, startled out of his thoughts, but he manages to cover it with a weak smile.

 

“Lost somewhere?” Daisy asks teasingly, the fingers of her other hand toying with the tablecloth. 

 

He fixates on that briefly, mind flashing to Daisy’s hands clenching and unclenching their grip on the metal of her headboard last night, and is immediately struck by a heat of desire that he quickly swallows down.

 

“Just thinking,” he lies, and they resume eating, forks clinking against the delicate porcelain of their plates.

 

* * *

 

_ “This is honestly one of most boring things I’ve done in life,” Bucky complains as he and Daisy shuffle through the papers, “and I’ve only spent twelve bloody years in this world.” _

 

_ Daisy snickers. “You’re too dramatic. So you missed a Quidditch practice? Big deal. You have like three every week.” _

 

_ Bucky tries not to take offense to that, since he knows that it’s only Daisy trying to be friendly and playful. In the last hour and a half, he has learned that her social skills are a little bit lacking and her comments can be a bit too sharp at times, but she’s still really funny and sarcastic.  _

 

Cynical _ , he thinks _ . Mom would call her a glass half-full kinda person.

 

_ They’re getting along great, and this would be so fun if they weren’t stuck sorting papers in detention.  _

 

_ “Hey,” Daisy says hesitantly after a long stretch of silence. “You know I didn’t mean the thing about Quidditch, right? There’s nothing wrong with liking it or being mad about missing practice.” She sounds awkward, almost like she’s not used to taking responsibility for her attitude. _

 

_ Bucky flashes her a goofy grin. “Nah. Of course. I know you didn’t mean it.” _

 

_ Her shoulders slump slightly. “Oh, good.” _

 

_ Wanting to spare her, he jumps back into conversation. “Hey, how are you liking Hogwarts so far?” _

 

_ She bites her lip. “It’s not as weird as it was the first day. I think that being with Fitz and Simmons helped.” _

 

_ “You’ve mentioned them before,” he replies. “Are they your Ravenclaw friends?” _

 

_ Daisy nods. “Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons. They’re insanely smart. Even for Ravenclaws. And they speak so fast. It’s weird. But they’re awesome.” Her smile is bright and genuine. _

 

_ “That’s great,” Bucky says. He knows that not everyone instantly falls in love with Hogwarts, but he was hoping that Daisy wouldn’t be too lonely. It’s not fun, especially when everything is so new, and he’s so grateful that he’s had and has always had Steve by his side. Steve will always be in his life, ‘til the end of the line. Bucky doesn’t know what he’d do without Steve; he wouldn’t be himself, wouldn’t be Bucky. “And what about classes? Have you learned a lot so far? I know how using a wand can be so weird at first.” Now, it feels like a natural extension of himself, an extra limb.  _

 

_ “It’s not that weird.” She shakes her head. “It feels kinda - well, I dunno -  _ right _. Like pouring water through a funnel. It’s like I can finally direct my magic. I guess I won’t be turning things different colors or making things fly by accident now.” _

 

_ “Well…” Bucky grins. “The best thing about a wand is that you can do that on purpose. Did you learn the Levitation Charm yet?” _

 

_ Daisy snorts in disbelief. “Yet? That was like the first thing we learned in Charms.” A beat. “Professor May really helped me with learning it. Fitz and Simmons did it almost instantly. It took me a few tries, but May guided me through it step-by-step. She seemed stern, but she’s very patient too.” _

 

_ “Yeah, May can be like that. She helped me a few times last year. But she’s very strict on grading, so always do your homework ahead of time,” he tells her seriously. _

 

_ “Noted,” she says. “What about the other professors? Any tips or tricks?” _

 

_ He tilts his head forward, resting it on his palm as he muses. “May’s coursework will be hard but like her exams; if you do well on the homework, you’ll be fine on the exams. Coulson’s a fun professor, but his exams are kinda tough. He expects a lot outta his students, but he can be understanding. Last year, when Steve broke three ribs, there was only so much the Skele-gro could heal, so Coulson excused him for a few weeks of class.” _

 

_ When he glances back up, Daisy’s watching him perceptively. “Does that happen often?” she asks, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Your friend Steve getting into fights, I mean? You told me he only fights bullies, but why does he keep getting into so many fights?” She doesn’t sound accusing, only genuinely curious. _

 

_ Bucky straightens up and glances down. “Stevie can never stand when he thinks something wrong is going on, and there’s some students in this school who have some terrible beliefs.” _

 

_ “You mean the wizards and witches who look down on Muggles,” she surmises. When she catches Bucky’s surprised expression, she shrugs. “I wasn’t born an orphan. I knew my parents. They taught me about some of this. Said that some people might look down on me for being a half-blood.” _

 

_ “Well, I don’t,” he replies with conviction in his voice. “I don’t, and neither will Steve. There are very few people who actually have those beliefs.” A beat. “People are more likely to be against you for hating on Quidditch.”  _

 

_ “Hey,” she protests playfully. “That was a joke.” _

 

_ He rolls his eyes. “I know. I’ll convince you to like Quidditch later though. We should finish these papers before Zola gets back and gives us more detention.” _

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t have to worry about paying with his Muggle pounds. When they step up to the counter to pay, before he can fish for his wallet, Daisy is already sliding a handful of Sickles and Knuts to the witch behind the cash register.

 

“That’s not fair,” James protests lightly. “Let me pay for my half.”

 

Daisy’s expression turns mischievous as she leans closer to him, dropping her voice to a sly whisper. “Consider this repayment for that wonderful orgasm you gave me last night.” A beat. “You have a skilled tongue.” She winks in a manner that would be almost over-the-top if she wasn’t already grinning.

 

He can feel heat rush to his cheeks; he knows he’s blushing brightly. He tries his best to ignore her innuendo but still returns her grin briefly to prove that her sentiment wasn’t unappreciated or unreciprocated. “I still want to pay you back later.”

 

“Alright.” She shrugs.

 

They exit onto the street, Daisy before him, paralleling the way they had entered the cafe. After strolling side-by-side on the pavement for a few moments, she murmurs to him, voice still drifting to his ears despite the hustle-and-bustle of Muggle London traffic, “That was a nice...date.” She hesitates awkwardly. “Lunch. Lunch date, I mean.”

 

James chuckles quietly. “That can be a date if you want it to be.”

 

Daisy bites her lip. “I’d love that.” 

 

As they continue walking, she slowly slides her hand into his, their fingers intermingling. Her hand is warm in his grip, and James could swear, even though he knows that it is illogical, that he can feel her pulse beneath the skin of her wrist. It marches in rhythm to the beating of his heart.

 

_ Is this the warmth that regular people feel _ ? he wonders.

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, they end up together in bed again, panting against the tangled and stained sheets, pillows having been flung to the floor in the frenzy of their coupling. It’s his apartment this time, however, and so they catch their breath, both without a stitch of clothing on, Daisy’s head pillowed against James’ chest. 

 

“I guess you finally got to be inside me,” she says wryly.

 

He chuckles breathlessly. “I guess I did.” He shifts to become more comfortable on the bed, which creaks in alarm. He grumbles, “I hate this bed. I keep meaning to buy something better.”

 

Biting her lip to hide her smile, Daisy waves a lazy hand at the pillows, which quiver before rising in the air and settling back onto the bed. “Here. Now, it’s more comfortable.” 

 

James stiffens briefly. In the next instant, his breath smooths out, and he affects a smile, but Daisy is perceptive; she didn’t miss his reaction. She props herself up against the pillows and turns to face him, curling up like a cat with her legs folded beneath her. Slowly, she begins, “Hey. I’ve noticed that you seem to be on edge every time I perform magic. Also - and I’m not judging - but you seem to do everything Muggle-style.” Her pretty, expressive eyes bore steadily into his own; her tone is not confrontational or accusatory but inquisitive and gentle. “You seem wary of your wand, almost like it’s an afterthought to you. Almost like you’re shying away from magic.”

 

It’s like he’s underwater, Daisy’s words being distorted uncontrollably as they reach his damaged brain. At first, he turns his head, refusing to meet her gaze. He breathes out and in, trying to shove down the chaos ravaging his mind. “Um…” 

 

“Hey,” she says softly, reaching a hand for him. It hovers over his shoulder, not touching him but still there, a different form of comfort from someone who seems to understand.

 

He remembers her gaze from the bar yesterday. She looked haunted, lost, hopeless; it was an expression he had seen often in the mirror. That’s why he spoke to her first, and he … he wants to tell her this too. So he holds onto the memory of her eyes and forces himself to speak, the words tripping over themselves as they spill from his mouth. 

 

“It was the war,” he says, head still ducked down. “Everything was because of the war. Please don’t ask me more about it.”

 

“Okay,” she promises, and he can hear it in her voice: she means it. Still, she hesitates, so he rushes on.

 

Better to rip it off like a bandage. 

 

“Things happened.” He swallows, keeps his mind focused, not allowing it to stray to other memories. “Things that made me scared of myself and my ability to do terrible things to helpless people. All because I was born into a certain lineage, and all because I had a wand. So I distanced myself from it. I moved away like you did. Locked my wand away. Lived in Romania for a little while. I’ve finally healed a little, but I’m still not ready.” He hesitates. “I don’t know if I ever will be, if I will ever be able to embrace magic again. But I keep it at an arm’s distance.” 

 

She hasn’t replied during all his rambling, so he finally turns to look at her. She looks faintly horrified, but that gaze is not directed at him. She blinks twice, her lips firming and twitching as if she’s searching for words. Then, she blurts out, “I understand.” A beat. “We don’t have to talk about it, but the war affected me too. And I still have reminders. Nightmares and such, not so frequent but still there. There’s other stuff too.” Another beat. “I just want you to know that it’s not just you against your demons.” 

 

“Thank you,” he says.

 

In that moment, James realizes, so much more passes between the two of them than just words. It is not the ultimate healing power of romance or sex or some other kind of physicality. It’s the connection of two broken people learning to trust again, even if it’s gradual, even if it’s piece-by-piece, even if it’s staggered.


	4. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks into their steady friends-with-benefits relationship, Daisy and James start to shed their layers to each other. In an attempt to reintegrate James into Wizarding society, Daisy takes him to Diagon Alley where they stumble into a familiar echo from James' past.

As the morning sun filters through the gap in the curtains, softly illuminating particles of dust floating through the air, Daisy burrows her head further into her pillow to avoid the bright light, head turned away. Her attempts are futile, however; her brain slowly rises to consciousness, registering the solid body behind her and the warm arm thrown over her waist. Her eyes blink open sleepily, and she turns her head back around to make sense of her morning situation. 

 

She’s being spooned by James, and her body is pleasantly sore, likely from last night’s final round of sex. Due to her limited arm and leg space, all she can do is turn her head to the right and view her messy bedroom floor, with their clothing tossed about and a sheet that slipped off the bed, and the wall with the most recent cracks from her Curse-breaking work that she’s forgotten to  _ Reparo _ . On her left is James’ most impressive and muscled chest with the faint dark hairs that begin at his abdominal muscles and trail down, disappearing behind the light blanket that covers their lower halves. Part of his hip still pokes out, making visible the dark-colored bruise that Daisy’s mouth had left two nights previous.

 

So, yeah. It’s been a few weeks. They’ve had a lot of sex. 

 

_ A lot _ , Daisy thinks as her mind flashes through various orgasms that she’s had over the past week alone. It’s been the most sexually-active period of her life, surpassing even her teenage years. She’s incredibly grateful that she remembers to take her Contraceptive Potion every day.

 

At that moment, James himself stirs behind her, loosening his arm slightly around her waist. He presses a brief kiss to her bare shoulder. “Awake?” he asks in that quiet but gravelly morning voice of his that causes wetness to pool in Daisy’s pussy.

 

With newly rekindled enthusiasm and lust, she slings a leg over James and uses that momentum to flip them over, the bed creaking and complaining beneath them, until he lands flat on his back, Daisy straddling his waist. Their blanket is tossed aside to join the sheet and a few pillows on the floor. “Thought we could try something new,” she says with a devious smile. James blinks awake, and Daisy can feel his dick hardening and brushing against her ass. “You seem like you’re up for it.” She leans over and traces her lips over his jawline before brushing them against his own.

 

When she attempts to straighten up, he latches a warm hand to the back of her and pulls her back down again to kiss her dirtily with tongue; she only gets wetter. He releases her, whispering lowly in her ear, “I definitely am.”

 

Daisy scowls playfully. “Couldn’t let me be in control for even a moment,” she teases. 

 

“Hey,” James replies, waggling his eyebrows, “it’s all you now.” He settles himself into a more comfortable position, propping himself against the remaining pillows and the headboard, arms folded to support his head. 

 

Rolling her eyes, she reaches down and firmly grips his cock in her right hand, squeezing slightly, and he throws back his head and groans. He’s rock-hard and weeping drops of precome, so she strokes him slowly, spreading his wetness. She squeezes again, with much more pressure than before, and he bites his lip. 

 

“Are you ever going to move past that?” he demands, hissing when Daisy’s other hand slips down briefly to fondle his balls. 

 

She doesn’t reply, smirking instead. Slowly, she shifts onto her knees, still clutching him but no longer stroking, and positions herself over James’ cock. With languid and deliberate movements, she lowers herself until she can gently and carefully brush the head against her soaking folds, ghosting it against her clit. 

 

James is audible in his loud, strangled whimper, but she suppresses her own sigh, instead focusing on drawing out his teasing. She revels in the fact that his face has screwed up in agony. 

 

“Still up for it?” Daisy asks, trailing a finger against his jawline and down his neck. She uses one hand to trace his pectoral muscles, squeezing and pinching his nipples until he hisses. Her other hand still grips him.

 

His own reply is the slight nod of his head and a breathless “Go ahead,” a brief but clear sign of consent, so Daisy, in fact, does go ahead. It’s good timing too, because she’s incredibly wet and can no longer resist the urge to release his dick and use that hand to reach down and rub herself. Instead, she slowly sinks down, the walls of her pussy gradually expanding to accommodate his generous length, whimpering as she does. 

 

“Oh, fuck,” James whispers, eyes fluttering shut blissfully.

 

When Daisy’s finally taken the entirety of him inside her, she stills, straightening upon him. He pulses inside her, pressing everywhere and feeling like iron rebar when she clenches down on him; they both groan loudly. 

 

“This was a good idea,” Daisy murmurs to herself, knowing quite well that he can hear her. As predicted, James nods slightly in agreement.

 

“It’d get better if you  _ moved _ ,” he suggests through gritted teeth, scrunching up his eyes tightly together. It looks like it’s taking all of his willpower to not buck up inside her and start fucking her himself, and she appreciates that, deciding to take mercy on him just this once.

 

Daisy begins to ride him, first in tentative and drawn-out movements as if she’s testing the waters. She lifts her hips, keeping James sheathed as deeply in her as her position and gravity will allow. Slowly, she rises up on her knees until he slips free of her, the walls of her pussy fluttering and clenching down despite her emptiness, and then he hisses. Then she sinks down again, back arching in pleasure as she takes his cock back inside her.

 

“Fuck,” she cries, stilling briefly as she clenches down on him, getting lost in the lustful sensation of being  _ full _ , and drawing a grunt of approval from James. “You feel so fucking good.”

 

Beginning the cycle again of moving her hips, Daisy latches onto the headboard of her bed with one hand to steady herself, giving both of them a moment to breathe. Her gaze fixes on James’, his eyes hazy with pleasure before they flutter shut, before she begins to ride him in earnest, swiftly and mercilessly, moving up and down in sharp, jerky motion while her breasts jolt in rhythm. With each motion, the head of his cock is shoved up inside her, and she bites her lip out of pleasure. She moves so savagely that James can only keep his head thrown back, expression wrecked and eyes closed, his neck curved alluringly.

 

Daisy says, “Merlin, fuck,  _ fuck _ , oh fuck, fuck,  _ you feel so goodinme _ , oh fuck,” and James says, “Fuck, you look so  _ fucking hot _ , ride me faster,  _ fuck _ .”

 

She moans enthusiastically, steadying her free hand against the planes of his chest and using the other to cup her breasts and massage and squeeze. She  _ slams  _ down on him so hard that he yells out and her bed creaks loudly in protest, and distinctly - somewhere in the back of her pleasure-struck brain, she thinks that if they keep going at it the way they have been, her bed’s structural integrity is not going to last much longer. 

 

Beneath her, the muscles of James’ legs draw up tighter and tighter as his spine begins to lift off the bed. He worries at his lip, unable to stifle his whimpers and moans. 

 

“Are you close?” she gasps, and he barely manages to nod shakily before she speeds up, riding him  _ harder _ . She releases the headboard, leaning forward and bringing that hand between them to touch herself. She rubs at her clit furiously, clenching down on James’ cock and rocking back in slight movements while she lifts up and sinks down on him again, literally bouncing on top of him.

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” James cries. “ _ I’m coming _ .”

 

His cock pulses, jerking deep inside her as he comes. The shuddery slide of her movements becomes audibly and sensually slicker, wet warmth seeping around his shaft. As her walls tighten around him one final time, his back arches even more off the bed before his body slumps back down.

 

Despite his cock starting to soften inside of her, she moves on him one last time,  which combined with the friction on her clit is enough to send her over. She stiffens, stilling on top him, head falling forward softly as she moans. 

 

Once the waves of her orgasm wash over her, Daisy stays seated on his cock for a few moments longer before finally lifting off of him, his come leaking out of her and running down her legs. She collapses on the bed besides him as they both pant to catch their breath, slump against each other.

 

“That was good,” he gasps out. “We should do that again.”

 

“Agreed.” After a few moments, Daisy sits up, careful of her hair pinned beneath her back, and grabs her wand to Vanish all of their intermingled bodily fluids. 

 

She would have done it wandless, but she’s trying to stay mindful of James and his wariness of magic. Thus, she’s been using a lot more of her wand than she usually does. Still, based on her observations of him, she thinks that he’s been slowly - very slowly but still - warming up to it again. This time, he didn’t even flinch when she performed the spell, despite it being nonverbal. They’re made progress from the last few weeks when she had to force herself to actually pronounce the incantation each time, a habit that died shortly after she became a Curse-breaker. 

 

Of course, Daisy’s attempts aren’t a cure-all for trauma forged from violence and death and over a decade of avoidance. And it won’t be instant either. Nothing like this can be or ever will be. Just because James shows - in her opinion, at least - some slight recovery doesn’t mean that she herself will wake up one day and forget all the bloodshed she’s responsible for. 

 

She just hopes that it means that she too can gradually heal and recover.

 

Abruptly, she slips from the bed, turning to James. “I’m going to take a shower. Wanna join me?”

 

He shakes his head, propping himself into a sitting position. “Nah, I’m alright. I’m gonna try to get some work done first. I’ll shower after you.” He reaches into the first drawer in her bedside table - the one where he stores most of his possessions that have accumulated in her apartment - and pulls out a stack of manuscripts and a red pen, pulling the sheet from the floor to cover his lower half before settling the papers in his lap.

 

Daisy pauses in her trek to her bathroom, gazing thoughtfully between James and her table. 

 

“What?” he asks in amusement, glancing up as his hair falls forward to cloud his face. Swearing, he reaches into his drawer and fishes out a rubber band, tying his hair up in a bun.

 

Her eyes narrow on the drawer. “Nothing.”

 

She doesn’t know what’s building between them, but she likes it and doesn’t want to ruin it by bringing up the drawer or her own shelf at his place, so she turns on her heel and continues to her bathroom.

 

* * *

 

_ “Welcome to trials for SHIELD,” Professor Coulson announces as he stands before the assembled students.  _

 

_ Behind him, the rest of the Great Hall is divided into multiple small dueling arenas, and Daisy wonders what exactly is about to go on. When the professor had first brought up SHIELD in class, he had presented it as “an exclusive dueling club where you will have an opportunity to explore your practical magic skills beyond what is covered in your classes and sharpen your dueling skill while working with a team.” Of course, that wasn’t what prompted her to actually attend what was supposed to be the first meeting; despite her respect and admiration for the professor, it was actually Fitz, Simmons, and Yo-Yo raving about how this would be“the practical application of academia” and “you will come, won’t you, Daisy?” and “it’ll be fun!” _

 

_ “Trials?” Grant Ward echoes behind Daisy. He’s a second-year, same as Daisy, but since he’s a Slytherin, she hasn’t interacted with him much besides some of her classes. Still, he’s really clever and witty, and last week, she saw him protect a firstie from his fellow Slytherins Rumlow and Rollins. That gives him some cred in Daisy’s book. “In class, you said that this was a dueling club.” _

 

_ “That I did, Mr. Ward,” Coulson replies with a smile, pointing back at Ward. “You listened well. But I also said that this would be  _ exclusive _ , which was the key word there. SHIELD is a club you have to earn your way into. For multiple rounds, each student will be paired against another who I deem of a similar skill level. Each round will last two minutes, and at the end of the round, whoever holds their opponent’s wand is the winner. Of course, winning the most duels is not simply the objective and will not guarantee you a spot in SHIELD. Professor May,” he points to the steely-eyed Charms professor behind him, “and I will be walking around observing each and every one of you. Don’t stress. Just focus on defending yourself and defeating your opponent.” _

 

_ “Remember,” Professor May speaks, quiet voice still projecting to the back of the Great Hall. “Your objective is to disarm, not harm. All Hogwarts rules still apply, and anyone who misuses this opportunity will be severely penalized and punished.” _

 

_ At her warning, Daisy can hear several students shuffle as quietly as they can out of the Hall, and she rolls her eyes, turning to her friends only to find Simmons panicking. _

 

_ “What if I can’t disarm my opponent?” she asks, wringing her hands anxiously. Her wand remains tucked loosely in the pocket of her jumper. “This would be a wonderful-” _

 

_ “-opportunity for a practical application of academia,” Fitz says soothingly, crowding in besides her. “I know, Jemma. You told us.” He pauses as he considers his words; he’s not known for being the most eloquent amongst Daisy and her friends. “You’ll be fine, Jemma. We’ve practically memorized  _ The Standard Book of Spells Year 2  _ and _ -”

 

_ “- _ The Standard Book of Spells Year 3 _ ,” Simmons says. “Yes, but Fitz, that’s not a guarantee for implementation of said skills. So much could go wrong. What if I swish my wand instead of flicking?” _

 

_ “Ay, dios mio,” Yo-Yo says. “Someone get her a Calming Draught or something.”  _

 

_ Characteristic of Yo-Yo, her eyes keep flickering between Coulson, May, and the Gryffindor sixth years standing in one corner of the Hall, a group that predictably contains Mack. She still keeps her attention on Simmons and their little group, but that’s just Yo-Yo, always in a million places at the same time and not just metaphorically. It’s also partly how she earned her nickname, zipping around them on her training broom the first day of their Flying Class.  _

 

_ “ _ Simmons _ ,”Daisy says sternly, gently pushing Fitz aside to stand before her friend. “You’ll be fine. You heard Coulson. They aren’t judging you solely on your dueling ability. You are one of the smartest witches I know. You’ll crush your opponents.” _

 

_ “Alright,” Simmons replies, nodding hastily. Her expression still remains pinched and worried, but some of the noticeable tension floods away. _

 

_ In one corner of the Hall, Coulson has already begun to pair the students, so they all hurriedly turn their attention to him. He sets the older students up first before moving to the fourth-years and fifth-years. Daisy notices that he’s intermingling the different years, so she suspects that some second-years might end up facing third-years.  _

 

_ Eventually, he calls Fitz, who is paired against a Hufflepuff. Simmons and Yo-Yo are placed in side-by-side dueling arenas. Finally, Coulson calls Daisy. _

 

_ When she arrives at her arena, she finds herself facing fellow Gryffindor Misty Knight who smiles and mouths,  _ Good luck _. Then Coulson blows his whistle, and both girls bow to each other before taking a dueling stance. _

 

_ On Coulson’s second whistle, the duel begins. _

 

_ The pale pink light of a spell streaks towards Daisy, and she barely manages to duck beneath it. Once she straightens up, she doesn’t spare Misty a moment to cast her next spell. Quickly, she raises her wand, crying,  _ “Colloshoo. _ ”  _

_ Misty is hit straight in the chest with Daisy’s spell and jolted slightly backward, but when she attempts to shift her stance, she finds an adhesive ectoplasm covering her feet and keeping her from moving. _

 

_ Just as Misty lifts her wand, still fighting to free her feet, Daisy hits her wand with a Levitating Charm, guiding it towards her. When it drops, she catches Misty’s wand in her free hand. _

 

_ “Sorry,” she tells the other girl just as May rounds the corner towards their arena. She catches the professor’s eye, who nods in approval. A moment later, Coulson blows his whistle, signifying the end of the first round.  _

 

_ Misty shrugs as May waves her own wand, Vanishing the ectoplasm. “Hey, it was a fair win.” A beat. “See you at dinner.” _

 

_ They exchange high-fives just before Coulson announces the next pairings.  _

 

_ Daisy’s next duel is a bit harder as she’s paired against a Slytherin she’s never talked to before but who she thinks is in her own year. He throws several different curses her way, including one that Daisy’s pretty sure is a Bat-Bogey Hex - which doesn’t seem very effective in a duel, but ultimately, she uses a powerful Permanent Sticking Charm to adhere him to the wall. She then walks to pick up his wand just as the whistle is blown. _

 

_ This would be almost fun if May and Coulson weren’t walking around and assessing them and if Daisy could remember more spells, but she works with what she’s got, which is mostly spells she looked up that could be used to prank her friends. _

 

_ Then, they’re all being reshuffled again, and she doesn’t pay attention the name that Coulson pairs her with, only obediently trotting off to the next dueling arena. Of course, she’s surprised when she glances up and finds her next opponent to be none other than Bucky Barnes. _

 

* * *

__

 

They’re both lying aimlessly on the couch in James’ studio apartment one sluggish Sunday afternoon when Daisy suddenly announces, “Let’s play a game.”

 

“A game?” James echoes, completely and utterly befuddled. “Why the bloody hell would we do that?”

 

In that moment, he sounds so very British that it strikes Daisy just how much his voice and accent have changed over the years. When she first met him, he was - in Steve Rogers’ words - “just a kid from Brooklyn,” and everyone, not just Daisy’s Manhattan-tuned ears, could tell by the rough and nasal consonants of his speech. He was a bright kid who spoke enthusiastically but still quietly and deliberately as if he was taking time to pick and choose his words, a trait he must have picked up from his politician parents. Over time, he, like Daisy, picked up more British and Scottish slang and colloquialisms, but Hogwarts was such a multicultural school, and they still spent the summers in New York, meaning they mostly retained their original accents. Now, James is still quite quiet but more from speaking less than speaking carefully, yet it’s obvious that his voice has traded the Brooklyn for the British, as did Daisy’s accent, she’s sure.

 

Of course, she doesn’t tell any of that to him. 

 

“To get to know more about each other. Because we’ve got nothing other to do,” she tells him, burrowing deeper into the couch and closer to the warmth of his body. “Unless you’d like to go back to looking at your ridiculously boring manuscripts.”

 

He groans. “Fine. What kind of game?”

 

“Twenty questions except we’re just telling each other twenty random facts. Meaningful facts.”

 

She can’t really view his face based on the angle that they’re laying at, but she’s betting that he just rolled his eyes.

 

“Isn’t that a game for school children? Teenagers?” he says, still staring up at the water-damaged ceiling.

 

Elbowing him gently in the side, Daisy rolls over slightly to make herself more comfortable on the couch without falling off. “I’ll start.” A beat. “I always thought that I was going to Ilvermorny before I got my Hogwarts letter.”

 

“Um, okay.” He taps a staccato beat against the delicate skin of the inside of Daisy’s wrist before lifting her hand up and pressing a kiss there. “I’m scared of ducks.”

 

Daisy snorts and lifts her head to glance at him. “What? Why?”

 

“Look,” he insists, “I was seven. My mom took me and Becca to Prospect Park, and I was feeding the ducks. I ran out of bread, and then I fell into the pond. I was traumatized.”

 

“Oh, you poor baby,” she says teasingly, and James pouts, an adorable expression that she wishes he would make more often. To apologize, she nestles closer and cranes her head to plant a sweet kiss on his mouth. The sneaky bastard that he is, he latches onto her wrist and pulls her on top of him, and she can’t resist from keeping her lips on his, her innocent gesture turning slightly more heated.

 

Finally, she bites back a moan of appreciation and breaks off the kiss, lifting her head. “No,” she says, scolding him playfully. “We’re still doing this.” She rolls off of him and nestles back into his side. There’s a lingering moment of silence. “The thing about Ilvermorny was a bit of a lie. For the longest time while I was still at the orphanage, I began to believe that I had imagined my parents and the magic, that I was a freak and I wouldn’t be going anywhere. That’s also partly why I had such a tough time adjusting to Hogwarts at first.”

 

“Ouch,” James replies with a whistle. “That’s rough.” A beat. “Becca was a Squib. I told everyone that she went to Ilvermorny, because that’s what my parents told me to. Only Steve knew otherwise.” 

 

Something about his tone of voice makes it obvious that he doesn’t want a reply or discussion on that, so Daisy moves on. “The war made me lose sight of my life. I don’t even know if I ever really wanted to be a Curse-breaker.”

 

“Not only did I lose myself to the war, but I also lost my family. My parents died shortly after the war, and I lost Becca while I was in Romania. She got married and moved, and now, I don’t know where she is.”

 

“You can find her,” Daisy reminds him gently.

 

His reply is firm but sharp. “I’m not sure I want to.”

 

A beat. “My parents were murdered.”

 

James props himself up and turns his direct attention on Daisy. “You said they died Muggle-style in a car crash.”

 

“I did.” She pauses. “I did some digging a few years ago. My parents were very controversial figures in the American Wizarding community. Someone wanted them out of the picture.”

 

“Oh, damn,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

 

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long, long time ago. I suppose I might have otherwise cared, but with everything else that happened in my life, it feels inconsequential. Besides, it feels like my parents were only part of a fraction of my life; they’re strangers to me now, distant and almost forgotten.”

 

“Still, they were your parents,” James says quietly, but she doesn’t reply. He shrugs. “I haven’t spoken to Steve Rogers in over ten years.”

 

For some reason, Daisy feels oddly sad at James’ declaration; in all the years she’d known James at Hogwarts, he would never be found without Steve by his side or vice versa. Neither was each other’s sidekick; they were like platonic soulmates, interwoven so deeply in each other’s lives that anything else seemed without question. No wonder James feels so lost and incomplete; he’s practically lost his other half, what was left of his family.

 

Of course, then Daisy herself is a hypocrite: she abandoned her own family. SHIELD. Coulson and May, her mentors and parent-figures. Fitz, Simmons and Yo-Yo, her best friends. Mack, Bobbi, and Hunter, her big siblings. 

 

She realizes this now, something she’s known all along but refused to acknowledge. As much as Lincoln, her first boyfriend and her first true love, had meant to her, he’d also been part of her family, part of SHIELD. He’d been important to the others, and she’d used her loss and grief to ignore that. She’d pushed then away, left them, and she misses them more than anything in the world, Daisy realizes as she’s filled by a bone-deep, immense sadness. She’s missed so much: their relationships, their weddings, the formations of their own new families.

 

With that, she speaks up. “I’m afraid I destroyed my connection to the first true family I ever had, and now, I can’t go back.”

 

James reaches down for her hand and grasps it, his skin warm against her own as their fingers intermingle. Their grasp, their connection, whatever it is that is growing between them, feels so fragile compared to the dooming finality of their words. “Why?” he asks gently. “Why do you think that?”

 

Immediately, Daisy knows what the moment calls for, but she doesn’t know if she can do it. She gently frees her hand and sits up as she struggles to find a way to tell him, finding that she can’t. Her throat begins to clog up with panic at the thought of letting someone else know the truth that’s been clawing at her for ten years, someone finding out all the bloodshed and destruction she’s responsible for. Logically, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows - even if she she refuses to acknowledge it - that it wasn’t her fault, but as her body tenses instinctively, her brain cannot comprehend this. It’s almost as if she can actually feel the blood covering her hands, thick and slippery and impossible to scrub off. 

 

“ _ Daisy _ ?  _ Daisy? _ ” James’ concerned voice filters in from somewhere, through layers of fog that block out everything else in the world but the horror and anxiety and the endless crush of memories. “ _ Are you alright _ ?”

 

_ Not really _ , she thinks but can’t choke the words out.

 

Then, out of nowhere, she’s hit with a cool sense of calm that spreads throughout her body, the panic weighing her down dissipating away, until she’s able to think clearly. With the fog finally gone, she focuses on her surroundings and finds James standing, his wand pointed at her.

 

That image in itself doesn’t make sense, and she blinks several times before she realizes that James  _ is  _ in fact standing before her - well, now he’s kneeling before her, clutching his wand with a shaky grip like it’s his lifeline. Meaning that he performed a spell. On her. 

 

His face is ashen, his eyes staring up at her in concern. “Are you alright?” he repeats.

 

Daisy knows that he’d hate it if she drew attention to the fact that he performed magic for the first time in years, especially since it was on her, for her, to keep her from being overwhelmed from a panic attack, and she herself still feels wobbly and bewildered. Instead, she laughs roughly and lowly, and he blinks, taken aback. “Sorry,” she says, not sure what exactly she’s apologizing for. He doesn’t reply. “Um.” A beat. “What spell was that? I’ve never seen it before.”

 

He hesitates before saying, “It was a spell I came up with in fourth-year, since both Becca and Steve would have the occasional panic attack,” and she’s reminded just how  _ good  _ he used to be at magic.

 

She pushes everything away; their aimless afternoon has turned unexpectedly into a minefield, and she doesn’t want to deal with any of it for a second longer right now. “Let’s order some Chinese for dinner,” she says, and James’ eyes narrow.

 

He can tell that she’s using an avoidance technique, but he doesn’t press. “I’ll go dig out the menus.”

 

* * *

 

_ “Daisy?” he asks, taking a step back. He’s gotten a few inches taller over the summer, and he’s slightly tanner and starting to grow into his facial features a bit more. _

 

_ Her association with Bucky is kinda strange; they don’t generally interact that much normally or stay in contact. Or at least that’s how the rest of last year went after their first meeting in the Common Room and the detention with Zola. She would run into Bucky in various, unexpected places like the library or by the lake, and they’d have a pleasant conversation or such. Once, Daisy joined Bucky, Steve, and their friends from the Gryffindor Quidditch team in a wicked game of Exploding Snap, but besides that, they didn’t go out of their way to be friends. Not out of dislike or anything. They just ran in different circles.  _

 

_ Still, it’s been a good month into the school year since Daisy arrived at Hogwarts for her second year, and she’s been wondering when she would bump into Bucky. She thought she’d caught a glimpse of him and Steve entering the Great Hall earlier.  _

 

_ “Uh, yeah,” she says. “Have a good summer?” _

 

_ He nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “My parents took me and Becca to Romania for a few weeks to visit some relatives. I saw a dragon! It was pretty cool.” He hesitates briefly. “What about you? Did you get outta Manhattan?” _

 

_ “Nah.” She shakes her head. “The nuns are pretty strictive about letting us go anywhere during the weekdays. They took us to Coney Island once, which was fun. I also wandered around the New York Public Library a bunch.” _

 

_ “That’s cool,” he replies. It looks like he’s about to ask her another question, but Coulson’s whistle cuts him off. Hurriedly, he tells her, “Good luck,” before they bow and break into their dueling stances. _

 

_ At Coulson’s second whistle, Daisy strikes first, jabbing her wand straight out at Bucky. “ _ Immobulus.” 

 

_ In quick movements, however, he cries, “ _ Finite Incantatem. _ ” His wand emits a pale pink spell that meets the blue opaque light of her Freezing Charm head on and causes a small explosion of bright gold sparks that terminates both spells. _

 

Well, that’s a new spell to add to my repertoire,  _ she thinks, volleying in quick succession with three separate but consecutive Permanent Sticking Charms that Bucky manages to terminate again or dodge.  _

 

_ In retaliation, Bucky swishes his wand out in a jiggly motion and says an incantation so quietly that Daisy only knows that he’s actually cast a spell by the orange light his wand fires. She’s unsuccessful at dodging the light, which clips her shoulder, and her legs begin to shake uncontrollably, almost like they’re made of jelly. _

 

_ Daisy grits her teeth and raises her wand, pointing it at her legs. “ _ Finite Incantatem, _ ” she says, and the spell causes another small golden explosion when it makes contact with her jeans. Immediately, her legs cease their wobbling, so she turns and cries, “ _ Expelliarmus. _ ”  _

 

_ It’s a spell that Coulson has only briefly mentioned and demonstrated in their class last week, and she’s not entirely sure if she got the hand motion down, but to her surprise and happiness, it works. The spell strikes Bucky, and his wand flies from his hand, arcing through the air until Daisy jumps out to grab it.  _

 

_ Coulson’s whistle once again sounds the end of the duel, and Daisy glances between the two wands in her hand and Bucky standing across from her, feeling pleased. _

 

_ “Here,” she says as she tosses Bucky his wand back. “Good duel. Sorry about beating you.” _

 

_ Bucky shakes his head, smiling. “Nah, you beat me fair and square.” He lifts his hand, and Daisy high-fives him before Coulson begins to call names again. _

 

_ Now that Daisy knows that she can perform a - weak but still successful - version of the Disarming Charm, she wins her next duel much more easily, her opponent’s wand in her hand before the first minute is up. As she glances around, she notes that many of her classmates are being a bit less creative and experimental with their spells, and she feels a bit proud of herself. _

 

_ When Coulson calls an end to the trials, she goes to stand beside Fitz, Simmons, and Yo-Yo at the front of the assembled students. _

 

_ “I only won two of my duels,” Simmons is saying fretfully while Fitz pats her consolingly on the shoulder. _

 

_ “It’s fine, Simmons,” he tells her. “I didn’t win more than one. Still, we saw plenty of new and creative spells to try.”  _

 

_ Yo-Yo turns to Daisy expectantly, but Daisy decides to go with a simple “It went well.” She thinks that if she mentions that she won all of her duels, Simmons will feel worse. _

 

_ Their attention turns to Coulson who is standing in a corner and urgently discussing something with May. As they wait, the minutes stretch out slowly like some kind of sticky taffy, and Daisy can feel the familiar thrumming of impatience start in her brain. _

 

_ Finally, Coulson returns to the front of the students, standing with his arms crossed before him, May behind him. “Professor May and I have chosen the students who will be joining SHIELD. Now, remember, it doesn’t count against you in any way if you weren’t chosen. We were simply looking for students with varied and different skills. Now, joining SHIELD will be, in no particular order, Alphonso Mackenzie, Bobbi Morse, Grant Ward, Lance Hunter, Elena Rodriguez, Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, and Daisy Johnson.” _

 

_ At the sound of her name, Daisy releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding, turning to high-five her friends.  _

 

_ Little did she know that she had finally found her family. _

 

* * *

 

They don’t really talk about the events of that afternoon again, at least for a while, for which Daisy is grateful. She figures that it’ll take some time, but she doesn’t know when she’ll be ready - or if she’ll ever be ready - to tell James.  

 

The unsaid still floats between them, haunting them, but for the most part, they manage to push it away, choosing to focus on the more positive. Daisy has slowly been coaxing James into becoming more familiar around magic, and today, another three weeks after their conversation, they are choosing to venture into Diagon Alley, which she thinks is a major step forward for him.

 

And her too, since she never ventures into Diagon Alley.

 

They meet outside her apartment building before they Side-Along Apparate to a quiet and hidden alleyway along Charing Cross Road from where they walk a few minutes to the Leaky Cauldron. 

 

Daisy’s aware that they could have Apparated straight into Diagon Alley, but she doesn’t think James would be ready for that. Instead, they’ll take the outside route, the way Daisy was first introduced to Diagon Alley. She thinks that it’s incredibly fitting, considering that this trip is sort of like James’ reintroduction to the Wizarding community.

 

“Now, remember,” she tells him as they approach the pub, “if it ever gets too overwhelming, just say the word, and we’ll go grab a drink somewhere instead. Maybe not the Leaky Cauldron itself but somewhere.”

 

“Alright, Mum,” he grumbles. His tone is playful, but she can still see the glimmer of anxiety in his ocean eyes, and he remains half-a-step behind her.

 

They push through the front door and emerge in the familiar dark and shabby interior of the pub. Despite it being midday on a Saturday, there are already a few wizards and witches seated at the wooden tables and sipping at flagons of amber-colored mead or clutching bottles of Firewhisky or Butterbeer. Thankfully, Daisy nor James recognizes any of them, and they stroll through the pub, emerging from the back door into the small, walled courtyard.

 

Daisy approaches the brick wall exactly opposite the door and stops before the rubbish bin pushed up against the wall. From the rubbish bin, she counts up three bricks and across two before reaching for her wand and gently tapping the correct brick. There’s a thud as the brick pushes out and peels to the right and then a grinding sound as the wall slowly peels apart to reveal Diagon Alley. 

 

It’s a familiar winding, cobblestone street that seems to stretch on longer than the eye can see with an assortment of restaurants, shops, and other sights crammed along both sides. In the far distance, nearly only a silhouette but still quite distinctive, looms Gringotts, a hulking building of gleaming white marble. The buildings and cobblestone of Diagon Alley have existed for far long before James and Daisy and will continue to exist long after them. None of it bares any proof of the violence it saw during the months of the war, especially the Easter attacks, proving once again that the Wizarding community, as a whole, can rebuild from tragedy. 

 

_ Some people _ , Daisy muses, thinking of herself and gaze passing to James,  _ cannot _ .

 

Wizards and witches fill Diagon Alley in hordes, their young children trailing obediently by their sides. They’re in all kinds of dress, ranging from the plain and simple black robes that Daisy and James are sporting - she had to dig them out from her trunk and resize them, especially for a broad-shouldered and beefy James who had worn nothing but Muggle clothes for years - to elaborate silk robes dyed in magical color-changing shades or decorated with peacock feathers. 

 

The crowd is enough for Daisy, who is fairly comfortable with magical crowds - she has to be to adapt to her travels - to cower a bit, stepping closer to James. She reaches a hand down to palm her wand strapped to her thigh beneath her robes, ensuring that it’s there, sort of like a security blanket for her. She knows that for James, the wand tucked in his boot that he’d placed there this morning in front of her causes concern instead of calm, so she threads their arms together and clutches his hand securely. He glances up, shooting her a slight smile of relief and gratitude.

 

“Let’s go to Gringotts,” she suggests, since it’s a direct location and since she actually has some business there.

 

She’s not entirely sure how they cut through the crowd to get to Gringotts, and if someone asks her how, she won’t be able to entirely recall from the blur of her memory. James begins moving stiffly besides her as they take it (at a reasonable) step-by-step. A little less than halfway to the bank, it gets much easier, especially due to the wandless and nonverbal variations on a Disillusionment Charm and a Notice-Me-Not Charm - one created by the brilliant Jemma Simmons in their fifth year -  that Daisy has the foresight to cast, which causes the crowds to practically skirt around them and clears a rather large path for them. 

 

Arriving outside of Gringotts, Daisy offers James a brief peck on the lips, a reward for his patience and tolerance. “I gotta get something for work,” she tells him. “You can wait outside if you want.”

 

“Nah,” he says. “I need to see these goblins who’ve been demanding gold from you.”

 

Laughing, she leads the way inside, past the majestic bronze doors. In spite of James’ goblin remark, they actually bypass the main hall for a small office off to the side where a young, bored wizard sits behind the receptionist desk, nose buried in a copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ . Daisy approaches him, knocking quietly on the surface of his desk to gain his attention.

 

“I’m here to pick up files from Curse-breaker Robbie Reyes,” she says. “Should be filed under Daisy Johnson.”

 

The wizard nods wordlessly and flicks his wand. Instantly, a large stack of files come zooming towards James and Daisy at a dangerous speed. Before Daisy can cast an  _ Arresto Momentum _ , James snatches them from the air, bravely risking paper cuts but - strangely enough - suffering none. He hands them to her, and she stuffs them in the satchel she brought along.

 

Back on the street, they stand off to the side of the Gringotts steps, discussing where to proceed next.

 

“We can just wander the shops,” Daisy suggests. “I don’t really need anything, but it would be alright just to kill some time.” She eyes James carefully. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

 

To James’ credit, he doesn’t snap at her or behave negatively, despite her recognizing that she’s being a little overbearing. He simply sighs. “I’m not a wilting flower, Daisy,” he says gently with a steely gaze of determination. “I can handle being out for a little longer.”

 

“Right,” she says, feeling a bit sheepish as twin patches of heat bloom on her cheeks. “Sorry. I just don’t want to pressure you.”

 

“It’s fine.” He grins, and some warmth and life returns to his expression, bringing Daisy some hope. “I’ll be fine. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

 

Pretending that the pet name doesn’t brings butterflies in her stomach or make her want to melt into a warm puddle of goo is hard, as is pretending that something, something bright and electric but also oddly warm, doesn’t strike her every time for the last few weeks when she glances at the sharp angles of James’ face, at his high cheekbones, at the those blue,  _ blue  _ eyes. Yet she always shoves it down, as deep as it goes, numbing herself to the kinds of emotions she hasn’t felt since Lincoln.  _ And it seems like a complete disrespect to Lincoln _ , she thinks as a jolt of grief runs through her. Like she’s spitting on his grave. They were happy, in love, and she killed him. His blood is on her hands, and she grieves him every day. It’s a complete betrayal of him if she lets herself fall for someone else. She doesn’t deserve the happiness anyway.

 

“Daisy?” 

 

James’ calling her name and the gentle brush of his hand against her jaw draws her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?” he asks in concern, and she notices that his hand is halfway inching down his thigh to where his wand is. Almost like he’s trying to help by casting that calming spell from before.

 

“Yeah.” She affects a bright smile and focuses on Diagon Alley before them, and then she shoulders her way into the crowd again. She proves her confidence in James to herself by foregoing the magic this time; she’s pretty sure he did notice but didn’t say anything.

 

It goes much easier this time around, James matching Daisy step for step but still lingering back briefly when they exit shops and rejoin crowds. They weave between Flourish and Blotts and a few confectionary shops, purchasing a few Chocolate Frogs due to James’ giant sweet tooth.

 

“I haven’t had any of these in ten years,” he says quietly, glancing over the arrangement of sweets and candy behind the counter as Daisy pays for their purchase with a handful of Knuts. 

 

She tries not to feel a glimmer of sadness at his remark, instead commenting, “You’re gonna have such a sugar high if you eat all of these tonight.”

 

He throws back his head and barks a laugh. He’s gotten a haircut in the previous few days, so gone is the curtain of dark hair that shadowed his face until he nearly resembled a vampire, despite his many attempts to keep it tied up in ponytails or buns. Now, his sharp jawline is on full display, and his smouldering eyes and dimples can actually be seen; he looks more like the Bucky Barnes whom Daisy remembers from Hogwarts. Well, if that version of him shot up five inches and nearly doubled in muscle and size. “I don’t plan to, sweetheart.”

 

Daisy shoots a playful glare at him; she thinks that he noticed her response to the first pet name and is now just weaponizing it.

 

They step out the shop and back into the bright daylight, the streams of other magical people parting naturally to make room for them. She’s cracking yet another goblin joke - she knows plenty after working for them for so long, and he’s laughing again, fully visible and lively in the sunlight, when they hear an incredulous  _ Bucky?  _ over the din of the crowd and they swirl around instantly.

 

Standing a little ways down the street, frozen but likely having been making their way to Gringotts or somewhere else deeper in Diagon Alley, is a couple with their arms linked who Daisy recognizes instantly, both from Hogwarts but more recently from the  _ Daily Prophet  _ and every other Wizarding publication. 

 

No camera ever manages to capture the blue of Steve Rogers’ eyes or the clever gleam in Peggy Carter’s. They fit together like two misshapen puzzle piece that, if you bring closer to your face, you realize are actually the same piece. Steve is tall, big, and blond in handsome cobalt robes under which a Muggle sweater and trousers are visible, with his wand strapped to an exposed forearm, but Peggy, in a sharp white blouse and trousers, mahogany hair carefully curled and pinned back, is clearly the more imposing one, wand slid stylishly in a holster slung around her waist like a patterned belt.

 

Daisy’s own recognition lasts mere moments before she’s reaching for James’ hand, clutching it solidly and squeezing, but he doesn’t complain. She sneaks a peek at his face. His expression has shuttered. He hunches his shoulders down, seeming to shrink in on himself. 

 

Peggy assesses them astutely, a look of curiosity in her eyes, but she notably steps closer to her fiance. Steve, on the other hand, wears his hurt and longing and confusion openly on his face; Daisy seriously wonders how he managed to become Head Auror despite being so obvious and expressive about what rages on in his head.

 

Both couples stand still, neither moving closer, neither backing away, as the crowd sweeps between them. It’s as if both Steve and James are urging each other to make the first move. This is no moment for the women by their sides; both men only have eyes for each other.

 

Daisy watches the interaction carefully, distinctively aware of her own role in it. James is frozen like a deer in headlights, but it is not up to her to coax him. 

 

If that was Fitz or Simmons or Mack or Yo-Yo or Coulson or May or even Bobbi or Hunter standing there instead of Steve, she doesn’t know what she would do. Maybe run up to them. Maybe close her eyes tightly, wishing for the moment to pass. Maybe even turn sharply on her heel, watching the world blur around her as she Apparates away. She doesn’t know if they would follow her.

 

_ Shouldn’t have pushed then away, then _ , she berates herself.

 

It seems as if ages have passed - though realistically, it’s only been a few moments - until finally Steve seems to gather the courage, swallowing heavily, and moves forward, step by slow step, until he and Peggy are finally before them. When they were further away, Daisy thought that she could blink and they’d dissipate away, but this close, she realizes just how solid and real they are. 

 

“Bucky?” Steve repeats softly like he’s trying not to startle a wary animal away. “Is that really you?”

 

The muscle in James’ jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth. This has to be the worst thing possible for him right now, so Daisy traces the inside of his wrist reassuringly from where their hands are still linked. 

 

_ It’s going to be okay _ , she want to say to him.  _ It’s fine. Talk to him _ .

 

Finally, James swallows. His voice is quiet, dry, and rough, just like it was in the pub when they first met, when he speaks. “Yeah, Stevie, it is.”

 

The rest of Diagon Alley has blurred away, the space between the four of them becoming a bubble, and in this carved-out space of privacy, Steve’s expression breaks into something startling bare before he finally regains his composure, blinking away tears.

 

“Where were you?” he asks softly, obviously just one of the series of questions weighing down his tongue. “How are you? I missed you.” 

 

Peggy reaches over to gently tap his arm, and he glances down, probably realizing that he shouldn’t throw all his questions at James.

 

“Uhhh,” James says in reply, gaze darting wildly between Steve and Daisy and causing Steve to turn to her and blink as if suddenly realizing her existence.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, smile tight but polite. “I shouldn’t have barged up and interrupted you. My name is Steve Rogers, and this is Peggy,” he points to her, “Pardon my asking, but have we met before? You look quite familiar.”

 

“I know how you are, Rogers,” Daisy replies, trying to inject a slight bit of levity into the conversation. “I’m Daisy. Daisy Johnson. I was a year below you at Hogwarts.”

 

Steve’s expression becomes one of recognition as if his brain has finally placed her, but Peggy interjects. “It’s pleasant to meet you, Daisy, but perhaps, we’d like to move this conversation somewhere a tad bit more private.” She jerks her chin towards the eyes that have started to gathering on them as people realize that the Headmistress of Hogwarts and an Avenger are in Diagon Alley.

 

Daisy nods. “Yeah. I think that would be good.” She turns to James and prompts him. “Wanna get out of here?”

 

Slowly, his gaze unfocused, he also nods. “I think I’d like that drink now.”


	5. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy by his side, James is forced to confront his unwanted past through Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter.

“You don’t have to do this,” Daisy says, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. She uses her spare hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and James keeps his gaze on her pretty, angular feature, because as long as he focuses on her, he doesn’t have to think about what lies beyond the doors behind them. “You don’t have to do this.” A beat. “But whatever you choose, I’ll support you.”

 

They’re standing in an alleyway outside a Muggle cafe hastily suggested by Peggy before she and Steve -  _ STEVE!!! _ \- had Apparated away in a blur, and James doesn’t know how much of  _ this  _ he can take any more. All instincts in him, the guilt, the bloodshed, the splintered and shaky memories, it’s all telling him to flee, telling him that he doesn’t deserve any part of his old life back, telling him that he doesn’t deserve  _ Steve _ . 

 

But it  _ hurts _ ; everything  _ hurts _ as his brain, body, heart, and mind war over his decision. He  _ can’t  _ see Steve; he doesn’t  _ deserve _ to. That’s what his brain and mind say, but his body remembers the feel of slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders and tugging his best friend close, cleaning the blood Muggle-style off of Steve’s knuckles, all those days they ran through Brooklyn alleys together. He  _ needs _ to see Steve, because his heart,  _ oh _ , his heart  _ aches _ . It’s like an invisible string ran between the two men, connecting them, knotted tightly around their wrists, and when he saw Steve, he became aware of it again. The string is tugging painfully at his wrist, trying to pull him through the doors of the cafe, to Steve. 

 

He can’t articulate all of this pain and conflict to Daisy. Instead, he tells her, voice quiet and quavering, feeling weaker than he can ever imagine having felt before in his life, “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Seeming to hear the plea behind his words, she sighs and then nods in understanding. “Alright then.” She glances down, gathering her composure, and when she faces him again, it’s with a steely-eyed look of determination. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to march into the cafe and sit before Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, and you’re going to talk to him. You’ll do your best to explain as much of your decisions and past as you feel comfortable, and I’ll be sitting beside you the entire time.”

 

“I want to do that,” he blurts out, “but it’s all just  _ too much  _ right now.”

 

Daisy’s eyes glint sympathetically. “I know what to do,” she tells him before dropping down to her knees.

 

“ _ What _ ?” He gazes down at her in shock, not connecting the dots at first.

 

“Hey. A blowjob will help to take your mind off things right now. Calm everything down a bit,” she explains as she materializes a rubber band outta somewhere and begins to twist her hair up into a loose bun. “Besides, the endorphins will make you a bit more relaxed. Trust me. Orgasms used to be my key avoidance technique in the immediate months after the war.” When he still gapes at her, she pats his knee gently. “Don’t worry about anyone seeing or hearing. I’d already cast the right spells.” A beat. “Of course, only if you want to…”

 

“Yeah.” He swallows roughly. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

 

Daisy flashes him a wicked smirk that makes the blood rush to his cock, and he can feel himself hardening in his pants. She reaches for and slowly tugs down the zipper, shoving his jeans just past his knees and pulling him out of his boxers. He’s semi-erect but still mostly soft. 

 

Reaching in her pocket, Daisy fishes out a small bottle of lube, and he glances down questioningly.

 

“Did you have that on you the entire time?” he asks, bewildered.

 

She nods. “The plan was to give you a celebratory handjob some time today,” she says, chuckling. “This wasn’t really how I planned it.”

 

For some reason, that sends waves of arousal through him, and he whines low in his throat.

 

After pouring practically a gallon of lube on her hands, she strokes him slowly, her grip warm and tight around his cock, and his eyes flutter shut softly as he groans, thankful for the magical sound barrier that allows him to make as much noise as he pleases.

 

When James’ cock is rock-hard and standing fully erect to the point where he’s actually aching as he leaks precome, Daisy finally pulls her hands back, shuffling backwards slightly on her knees before bowing her head. She takes him into her mouth, and his knees nearly buckle at that instant, because her mouth is warm, wet, and perfect. 

 

James exhales sharply, doing his best to keep his hips from moving. He doesn’t want to accidentally thrust and make Daisy gag; that would really ruin this moment and add to the already thick tension that he’s been feeling.

 

“That feels really good,” he tells her quietly, glancing down to lock eyes with Daisy. In response, she lifts her eyebrows knowingly, and the sight of her lips stretched around the head of his cock causes additional heat to pool in his groin.  _ Okay, so Daisy on her knees really does something for me _ , he notes, filing that fact away for later use.

 

Daisy sucks his cock, using her tongue to trace around his head and humming as she does, which sends pleasure vibrating through his cock and sparks licking up his spine, and his mouth drops open slightly. Leaning even more forward, she grasps his base tightly, feeding more of him past her lips until she fuck him gently and carefully in and out of the wonderfully damp cavern of her mouth, her head bobbing up and down his cock as she does. 

 

James sighs at the sensation, fingers curling into fists by his side as he stays very,  _ very  _ still. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he says. “Your mouth is really wonderful. What haven’t we done this before?” If he focuses only at the sight of her lips unable to close with his cock fed between them and the spittle and drool that’s beginning to hang from the corners of her mouth, he can almost tune out what will come next, how he will have to face Steve.

 

In response to his question, Daisy only lifts her shoulders in a shrug, quirking her eyebrows. After sucking him one final time, she carefully pulls back, lifting her lips off from him, and he hisses at the sudden change in sensation as cool air rushes towards him and stings his cock. “I dunno,” she says, voice slightly hoarse from taking the tip of him inside the spongy canal of her throat, and he shivers at the sound. She flashes him a mischievous smile before pressing a quick kiss to the head of his cock, licking her lips. “We really should.”

 

That image of her is going to haunt him forever, floating through his mind the next time his cock hardens and his hands go to stroke himself. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans. 

 

She chuckles. “That would be my pleasure.” A beat. “Or,” she begins, glancing pointedly at his cock, “that would be your pleasure.”

 

“Just take me back into your mouth,” James pleads, already mourning the loss of the warmth around his cock. It’s almost as good as being inside her, just a different kind of pleasure.

 

“I will, in a moment.” She locks eyes with him, and a jolt of lust runs through him as his mind flashes back to the image of her licking his precome off his lips - he did say that it would haunt him forever. “You know, you don’t have to keep your hands by your side. You can put them in my hair.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, words drenched in concern. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“Trust me,” she replies, shaking her head. “You won’t.” Before he can reply again, she quickly bows down and licks a thick stripe down his cock, and he audibly gasps. Then she wraps her lips around him like before except this time, she takes more and more of him until she’s gagging. 

 

Her throat is tighter and warmer than her mouth, and James groans loudly, taking one hand into her hair and grasping her bun. As she sucks him deep into her mouth, he gently tugs the fistful of hair he’s clenching, and she hums in contentment, an act that sends amazing vibrations across his cock and builds a tight coil of pleasure at the pit of his stomach. 

 

He’s getting closer to his orgasm, to falling over the edge to pleasure, with each bob of her head, so he tugs her hair again, and the eye contact they make sends another jolt of desire through him. “So close,” he gasps. “I’m close to coming.  _ Fuck _ .” His hiss comes after an unexpected twist of her talented tongue around his cock, and his grip in her hair tightens.

 

Daisy fucks his cock through her mouth one final time, his tip getting caught in her throat briefly as he whimpers, and then, she lightly scrapes her teeth against the underside of his cock. The slightest bit of roughness coupled with the wetness of her mouth causes him to fall over the edge, and he comes, spilling down her throat for a long moment. When his cock is finally spent and beginning to soften in her mouth, she finally comes up for air.

 

Quickly, she spits his come onto the dirt floor of the alley, nonverbally Vanishing it a moment later. She wipes her hands on her robe, at which James nearly protests before she silences him with a single look; she clearly knows what she’s doing. Then she pulls out her wand, and with swift, precise movements, she Vanishes the stain from her robes, restores her hair to its previous kempt state, and removes any evidence of their indiscretions. 

 

When they’re both in decent state and he is noticably calmer, likely because she wandlessly casts the same calming spell that he used on her after her panic attack - something that she’s apparently mastered when he wasn’t paying attention some time in the last week, she finally pulls down her final privacy charms. 

 

James checks his watch, surprised to find that only five minutes have passed. “That was really fast,” he says in astonishment. 

 

“Yeah,” Daisy says, smirking, “I planned for that. I wasn’t going to send you in to see the best friend you haven’t seen in a decade clearly having had a blowjob. Even if you were clean like we are now, the timing and delay would be suspicious. They asked to meet twenty minutes later; I just got us here early. So now, we’re right on time.”

 

He blinks in surprise, pleasantly taken aback about how much thought she’s put into this. For some reason, that causes his heart to warm and butterflies to fly in his stomach. He smiles at her before leaning down to press a sweet kiss to her mouth. “Thank you,” he tells her.

 

She shrugs and then steps closer to link her arm through his. Hand-in-hand, they walk through the front doors of the cafe, ready to face his past.

 

Inside, Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter sit side-by-side in a corner table pressed against the wall so that both have a view of the front door and the back exit, and James nearly chuckles from the absurdity and irony; turns out he’s not the only one who suffers from paranoia and hypervigilance after the war. He steps closer to Daisy, grateful that the couple still hasn’t noticed them yet.

 

That, however, doesn’t last long. Steve’s head turns to survey the room, and his gaze lands on them, familiar eyes lighting up. He raises a hand and waves them over, and the next few steps to the table feel like a mile, time stretching to an eternity, as James hobbles forward, always just half a step behind Daisy.

 

“Hey, Stevie,” he says gruffly as he drops into the seat in front of his estranged best friend, hooking his ankles around the chair legs to drag the chair closer to the table. Besides him, Daisy takes her own seat facing Peggy.

 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve echoes, his lips quivering. It looks like he’s trying to fight a smile and not scare James off by being too enthusiastic. 

 

His former nickname strikes a chord in James, bringing back many wonderful memories of playing with Steve as kids in Brooklyn or sneaking out to the kitchens at Hogwarts that then sour as his mind flashes through Pierce, Rumlow, Zola, and the others all calling him  _ Bucky _ , mocking the name and its heavy ties to Steve. James shivers. “I don’t go by that anymore,” he says to Steve, voice hoarse. “Call me James.” Besides him, Daisy blinks heavily; she too had made the same error when they first met, and she still doesn’t know why he refuses to respond to his former nickname. Of course, there’s also a lot that he hasn’t told her yet that he will have to soon if he wants to pursue something with her.

 

Which, based on his feelings, he does.

 

Steve’s expression falls, and James’ heart aches as he watches the light fade from his best friend’s eyes. 

 

He wants to reach across the table and take Steve’s hands in his and apologize for disappearing on him. James hates himself for that, almost as much as he hates himself for what he did in the war, and he’ll never stop hating himself for that. He’ll never be able to forgive himself from distancing himself from Steve just when he needed Steve the most so that he could recover; he doesn’t doubt that Steve needed him too. James just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stay with Steve and the Avengers, knowing that they were the good guys, the victors, his rescuers, and that he had slaughtered over five dozens of their friends, family, and allies. The worst part was that the blood was -  _ is  _ \- on his hands, and he couldn’t and still can’t remember many of his victims because of how fucked-up his brain is. He only knows from the records and retellings and recounts. 

 

He couldn’t put that on Steve; he just  _ couldn’t _ . So for two months, he pretended that he was okay, held it together the best he could, watched as Steve suffered and grieved, but James still remained distanced from Steve, using his own trauma as an excuse so that Steve’s attachment would weaken, driving Steve towards Peggy. Then the day after graduation, James just packed up and left. 

 

When Steve still doesn’t reply after a few moments, eyes downcast, Peggy locks eyes with James and tells him, “Pleased to see you again, James.” She turns her gaze to Daisy. “And you too, Daisy.” She’s curt, not overly warm but crisp and polite, as one should be when encountering near-strangers. “Additionally, before we let this conversation get far, I thought you’d like to know that I have spelled our table and the surrounding area. Muggles will pass right past us, believing that the table is full but not actually noticing anyone. Any servers will ignore us or assume that we have already been attended to.”

 

Daisy sighs. “Thank you,” she says awkwardly, hand placed besides James’ on the table. “Nice to see you again, too.”

 

Steve finally breaks his silence, timidly asking, “How have you been... _ James _ ?” He stumbles over James’ name, despite it being his given name. He’s been James Buchanan Barnes since birth; Steve knows that, but James spares him some pity. In their youth, he’d kicked up such a fuss to be distanced from what he had deemed a too common and too boring name for a kid. 

“I’ve been better,” James says truthfully. “I didn’t exactly pencil  _ reunite with an old friend _ into my schedule for today.” 

 

That wins a chuckle from everyone at the table, Daisy audibly snorting, and he sneaks a peek at her. She’s gazing at both Steve and Peggy, pretty brown eyes observing them carefully. 

 

“What were you two doing in Diagon Alley, if you don’t mind me asking?” Daisy inquires, drumming her fingers against the table.

 

Peggy turns to Steve, stroking his hand with her thumb. “We were in Diagon Alley searching for a special florist that a friend recommended. As you may heard or read,”--here, Steve snorts-- “Steve and I are getting married in a few months, and we’re quite in the thick of planning.”

 

“Congratulations,” Daisy offers politely, and Peggy gives her a kind smile.

 

“You’re  _ engaged _ ,” James blurts out, gaze travelling to where Peggy and Steve’s hands are linked together on the table, spotting the glittery diamond ring adorning her ring finger. His eyes narrow as his lips press into a firm, hard line, sorrow striking him like a punch to the gut. He’s missed  _ so much _ .

 

* * *

 

_ “What if she doesn’t like it?” Steve frets, wringing his hands together. His hair is already more dishevelled from him running his hands through it than from any other fight that Bucky’s pulled him out of, and Bucky’s afraid that his best friend will worry himself to a fatal heart attack at the tender and youthful age of fourteen. “What if she thinks that it’s too cliched?” _

 

_ The  _ she  _ that Steve’s referring to is Peggy Carter, the intimidating brunette Gryffindor they befriended in second-year and with whom Steve’s been enamored since day one. The  _ it  _ is his carefully-constructed plan to ask Peggy out on a date just before the annual Christmastime Hogsmeade trip with a hand-crafted bouquet of paper flowers, enchanted by Bucky and Steve to magically change colors every few minutes, and a small book of Steve’s sketches depicting moments from their friendship. Bucky’s favorite sketch is Peggy and her best friends Angie and Jarvis cheering in the stands as Steve guards the goal posts, his Firebolt tucked between his legs, during the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match in second-year. It had been Steve’s first match once he’d made it onto the Gryffindor team as a Keeper, a achievement that Bucky credited to their Quidditch scrimmages with the neighborhood kids back in Brooklyn, and nearly all of the Gryffindor second-years plus friends had shown up to support him.  _

 

_ “Relax, Stevie,” Bucky replies as they stride through the hallway on their way to the Common Room. “You two have been friends for ages. And I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She’s definitely not going to say no. I bet that she’s been waiting for you to grow some courage and finally ask.” He slings an arm around his best friend’s shoulders.  _

 

_ Personally, he thinks that Peggy is the only person who has appreciated Steve as much as Bucky does before the other boy became a popular-adjacent Quidditch player. More students flock to be his friends than ever before when they used to just laugh at him, and even Rumlow’s little gang of Slytherins has mostly left him alone, though they still sneer at him. Despite still being a foot smaller than Bucky and only a slight bit more muscular from Quidditch, more girls have started to pay Steve mind when they walk through the hallway, and not just because of Bucky, when before they used to stare past him like he was invisible. It really goes to prove how obsessed the Wizarding community, Hogwarts students especially, are with the sport. _

 

_ “You better be right, Barnes,” Steve mutters, stretching a hand up to muss Bucky’s carefully-combed hair and watching his best friend scowl and duck his head. “You’re raising my hopes up. If this fails, you might wake up one morning some time soon with antlers in your head.” _

 

_ “You don’t scare me, Rogers,” Bucky shoots back playfully, finally having had smoothed down his hair again. “I practically saw you in diapers.” _

 

_ Steve rolls his eyes, but before he can retort, they reach the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Hello, gentlemen,” she says, gauche pink dress swirling around her as she spreads her arms dramatically. “Would you like to hear me sing?” Her chest heaves as she inhales loudly. _

 

_ “No, thank you,” both boys say hurriedly in sync, wishing to spare themselves the cacophony that the Fat Lady calls music, and Steve continues on, telling her the password. “ _ Balderdash _.” _

 

_ The Fat Lady huffs dramatically. “As you wish.”  _

 

_ The portrait swings forward to reveal the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room, and they clamber through into the crowded room. Steve spots Peggy by the window and makes a quiet noise, rushing off towards her, presumably to ask her out, and Bucky intends to follow. _

 

_ Before he can, however, in his haste, he collides with something warm and solid that says  _ Ouch  _ and that he realizes is actually a person as there are several consecutive thuds around their feet _ .

 

_ “I’m so sorry,” Bucky says hastily, leaning down to collect the fallen objects, which turn out to be library books. “That was my fault; I wasn’t looking where I was going.” _

 

_ The person snorts, and Bucky finally glances up to meet the warm, amused eyes of Daisy Johnson. “It’s fine,” she tells him. “It’s on me. Everyone keeps saying that if I keep looking down and walking, I’m bound to hit a wall. At least bumping into you doesn’t give me brain damage.” She accepts the books that Bucky hands her, shoving them into her schoolbag.  _

 

_ His gaze lingers on her for a moment; he’s only seen her a few times throughout the year so far, and this is the first time they’ve been face-to-face. Her hair has grown out a bit, and it looks soft and shiny and wavy. She smells like roses, her cheeks are slightly pink, and Bucky realizes that she’s actually kinda pretty.  _

 

_ “Well, I’m glad I didn’t give you brain damage,” he replies quick, unsure of why he’s tripping over his words all of a sudden. “See you around?” _

 

_ “See you around.” She steps to the left to pass him, but since this is Gryffindor, and Bucky knows a lot of assholes, someone yells out, “Nuh uh. You have to kiss.” _

 

_ “ _ What _?” Bucky asks in disbelief before he follows their finger to a clump of mistletoe hanging just above their head, because  _ of course _ , it is. His stomach falls. _

 

_ Daisy sighs. “This is why I hate Christmas decorations.” _

 

_ “We don’t have to kiss if you don’t want,” he replies, doing his best not to fidget. “Don’t feel pressured into it.” _

 

_ “It’s alright,” she says. “It’s tradition after all, right?” She shrugs, and before Bucky is even sure of what is happening, she leans forward and lightly plants her mouth on his. _

 

_ Her lips are soft and smooth against Bucky’s, and up closer, she smells even more sweetly like roses but like the actual flower, not the artificial fragrance of Muggle perfume, which leads him to ponder the origin of the scent. Their lips work against each other briefly, and he can feel the heat of where their shoulders brush together. His eyes fall shut, and a tingling warmth begins to spread throughout his body. Then the kiss is over, and Daisy steps back. _

 

_ Immediately, Bucky’s acutely aware of the emptiness around him, the sudden surplus of space before him that had previously been taken up by Daisy, and his expression falls before he quickly recomposes it.  _

 

_ She’s smiling nervously at him, slender fingers compulsively tucking her hair behind her ears. “Thanks,” she says before brushing past him on her way out. “See you later.” _

 

_ “You’re welcome,” Bucky replies, still slightly stunned from the kiss. His brain comes back online, realizing what she said and the fact that she’s leaving, and he blurts out, “See you later.” Then he gazes down at his fingers and lifts them to feel his lips like he’s never touched before. _

 

_ This wasn’t Bucky’s first kiss, not even close. He’s kissed a few girls since third year, gone on a few dates too, but no kiss has ever felt like this, and he doesn’t understand why. _

 

_ Bucky shrugs and shakes the thought away. Glancing around the room, he sees Steve and Peggy sitting side-by-side in armchairs. Then his eyes narrow down on the important detail: they’re holding hands. _

 

I told Steve it’d work _ , he muses before making a beeline for his best friend and his brand-new girlfriend. _

 

* * *

 

_ I’ve missed so much _ . That’s what constantly repeats in his head on a loop, like it’s mocking him. He was too weak to stay for his best friend, and so Steve went ahead and moved on. 

 

“James,” Daisy presses, voice gentle, “are you alright?” Her hand reaches from the table to rest supportively on his shoulder, and he leans into her touch, allowing it to ground him.

 

Despite all he thought that it would not be possible, finally the words come to him. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly to the table, unable to glance up and meet Steve’s melancholic gaze. “I’m sorry I left.  _ Merlin _ , it’s a decision I regret every day,” his voice cracks, and his words falter, “I’m sorry for ruining our friendship, but I wish you all the future happiness in life.” Then he turns to Peggy and smiles weakly. “Congratulations. You both have been perfect for each other since the day you met. I wouldn’t be able to think of anyone who deserves such happiness more than you two.”

 

Peggy nods, her lips curving up slightly, and only more than ten years of knowing her and her facial expressions allow James to know that she truly appreciated his words. 

 

Steve,  _ Merlin _ , that man doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body. If it was James in his place, he’d be demanding an explanation for ten years of absence, for leaving, but Steve doesn’t ask. “The thing is, I don’t want to move on. I’m not going to lose you when I just found you again,” he says softly, eyes locked on James. “‘Til the end of the line, remember? You’re going to stay in my life until we both turn grey and wrinkles before dying at age 100. Well, 110 now, to make up for the decade we lost.” He hesitates now briefly. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”  A beat. “Well, at least not immediately. I do deserve an explanation eventually, but you can tell me why you left whenever you feel that you’re ready. I just want to repair our relationship.” When he’s done, his expression is open and vulnerable, demanding nothing.

 

Peggy smiles supportively at Steve, Daisy’s eyes are suspiciously damp and her expression sad, and James, oh, James, he can feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He opens his mouth to respond and chokes on the lump in his throat; now, the words won’t reach. “You bloody bastard,” he finally gasps, the tears spilling down his cheeks now as he sniffles. “You always had a soft spot for lost causes, didn’t you?” 

 

Steve’s eyes are soft and dampening rapidly. “There’s no such thing as a lost cause,” he says. “Nobody’s beyond repair. It just takes some time, some effort, and people who love them.”

 

James wishes he knew that a decade ago. “You asshole,” he says again. “You fucking drama queen. I hate you.”

 

“I missed you, Bu-” Steve begins but then stops himself. “I missed you, James.” The name is almost over-pronounced, like Steve’s being overly careful.

 

“What happened to us?” James asks, focus narrowing down to just Steve. He remembers the pact they made when they were eleven, not knowing if they would be separated when Steve went to Hogwarts, right up until James got his own letter.  _ ‘Til the end of the line _ , they’d said as Steve had said now. What happened to those Brooklyn boys?

 

“It’s only natural,” Peggy says gently, butting in, expression kind and sympathetic, “when two men like you and Steve have spent most of your lives closely intertwined that you would grow apart or need to seperate.” A beat. “It wasn’t ideal, and it could have been in a way that caused less pain and was more beneficial to both of you. Yet it happened, and the two of you grew in ways that you couldn’t have by each other’s sides.”

 

There’s a beat of silence as Peggy’s words sink in. James considers them. He supposes that they might have grown apart eventually if they had continued co-existing that way. He doesn’t know how they would have dealt with having to establish their own lives after graduation. 

 

The thing is, they’d never had to consider that, to consider what they would do after Hogwarts. Steve and James had always wanted to be Aurors together; that’s the path they’d begun to advance down after fifth-year, after the career counseling meeting with Professor Coulson, their Head of House, choosing classes that would eventually ease them into Auror training. Of course, that all went topsy-turvy after his Quidditch accident towards the end of sixth-year and then the war. By the time the war ended and classes resumed, most seventh-years, battle-scarred and recovering, were well-set into their prospective jobs whereas James fled to Romania, living off his inheritance briefly. When he finally returned to London, he reached out to an old living friend of his parents and secured a job editing manuscripts, and that’s all he’s been doing. He neither likes or hates his job; he simply makes money off of it.

 

“I suppose so,” James replies, voice soft. 

 

Once again, the silence between the two couples begins to stretch long before Steve finally turns to Daisy, asking eagerly, “So how long have you and James been dating?”

 

_ If you define dating _ , James thinks,  _ by continuously and exclusively sleeping with each other _ . His lips press together.

 

Immediately, Daisy sputters, shaking her head. “Oh, we’re not dating.” A beat. “Just friends.”

 

“You’re not?” Steve echoes, sounding a little taken aback. Besides him, Peggy takes note of their hands overlapping on the table.

 

“No,” James confirms. Privately, he wonders why he and Daisy haven’t actually discussed their relationship status. They work well together, and based on his revelation about his feelings previously, they maybe could turn their friends-with-benefits thing into something more legitimate. An actual relationship with an emotional connection. Living together, which they already practically do. Seeing each other every day. Talking about trivial things that bother each other. A warmth bubbles up in his chest at the thought of co-existing with Daisy, and he nearly smiles goofily but manages to tamp it down quickly. Clearly, his feelings for Daisy run deeper than he originally thought. “Just friends.”

 

“So how did you and Daisy meet then?” Steve asks causally. 

 

Daisy laughs nervously, running a hand through her hair and ruffling it even more. “Nothing special. We just kinda knew each other back in Hogwarts, not too well though, and bumped into each other in a pub. We’ve been friends with each other for a few months now.”

 

Yup, that’s just a non-awkward way of describing, without detailing, the fact that their friendship revolves around sex.

 

Thankfully, Peggy takes the hint, sensing the awkwardness likely pouring off of Daisy and James, and moves on. “You were part of Coulson’s original batch of SHIELD, were you not, Daisy?”

 

Pain flickers across Daisy’s expression before she smiles feebly. “Yeah. I was. He held the first trials in my second-year, and I got in.”

 

“Coulson’s a great guy,” Steve says amicably. “It’s really different to see your professor when they don’t teach you anymore, but I used to meet him when I went to visit Peggy at Hogwarts. He never stopped talking about his SHIELD kids. Yo-Yo, Fitz and Simmons, you.”

 

James’ hand wraps comfortingly around Daisy’s; he doesn’t know much about her relationship with her SHIELD family and how they separated, but it’s likely similar to how he felt about Steve only hours previous.

 

“He really is,” she breathes, “he really is.”

 

“Tell me about being Head Auror, Stevie,” James says quickly, shoving away the bit of sadness that bubbles up when he thinks that it should have been him and Steve working together at the Ministry.

 

“It,” Steve begins, laughing, “is a lot more work than you would expect it to be.” He launches into a story about his first day in his new position where one of his Aurors had to stop him from coming on a mission, because Steve had to file paperwork instead. 

 

Fifteen minutes pass quickly in Steve’s stories alone. James’ chest hurts from laughing so much, and then Daisy begins to trade stories about her own adventures while Peggy discusses her students from last year.

 

Before James knows it, Peggy’s glancing at the clock on the wall and frowning. “Merlin, is it really so late?” She turns to Steve. “We need to get going if we’re going to my Mum’s soon.”

 

Steve takes his own look at the clock. “Oh, you’re right.” He glances sympathetically at them. “I’m so sorry, but we need to leave. It was wonderful meeting you.”

 

They exchange their goodbyes, and when James rises to his feet, Steve immediately envelopes him. “Let’s meet again,” James murmurs to him, and Steve nods. “Soon, Stevie.”

 

Then in a blur, Steve and Peggy Apparate away, the loud crack of it muffled by to the Muggles by Peggy’s spells, and James feels a stab of sorrow at watching his best friend disappear. He turns to Daisy.

 

“Should we go?” she asks, observing him, offering her arm. James takes it, and they too Apparate away as the world blurs around them.

 

They land in a stumble in an alley outside of Daisy’s apartment building, and James catches onto the wall to steady himself. “Ouch,” he mutters to himself.

 

Daisy chuckles. “Do you want to come up for some tea or something?”

 

He shakes his head in response. “I think I should head back home. It’s been a long day.”

 

He takes a taxi back to his apartment building and rushes upstairs, kicking off his shoes and pulling his jeans off before he collapses into his mattress. Slowly, the inviting darkness of sleep envelopes him, and then the nightmare finally descends on him.

 

* * *

 

_ “And Barnes has got the Quaffle! He’s in the lead! He’s zooming towards the goalposts!” the student announcer cries. A hush falls over the Quidditch pitch, and it feels as if the entire school, students and staff alike, are watching closely with bated breath as Bucky nears the other end of the pitch. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are neck-to-neck, and whether or not Bucky scores could make all the difference in which House wins the match, considering that it’s literally up to the points while the Seekers are locked in battle for the Snitch. _

 

_ Bucky folds lower over his broom, grip his Firebolt even more tightly between his thighs, one hand holding it steady. His other is wrapped around the red leather Quaffle, clutching it to his chest like a precious baby until it’s time to throw. The wind whooshes past him as he zooms along a curve of the pitch, the goalposts nearing.  _

 

_ He can feel the eyes of the stadium burrowing into him, watching his every move, and if he wasn’t already used to it from six years of matches, he would be squirming out of discomfort and unease on his broom. Instead, Bucky watches the goalposts and Hufflepuff Keeper carefully. The Keeper is centered in front of the largest middle hoop; he’d likely expect Bucky to aim for the rightmost hoop, because it is the closest to him. Aiming for the leftmost hoop is a bit of a challenge, so Bucky decides on the sureshot, the center hoop. _

 

_ Quickly pulling short of the goalposts, Bucky changes angles as easily as slicing through butter and without losing his speed or movement, heads across the pitch. He prepares to throw the Quaffle and feints an aim at the rightmost hoop, instead aiming at the center hoop. _

 

_ The Quaffle leaves his fingertips and soars through the air, and Bucky joins the school in watching with held breath if it will follow the trajectory that Bucky set for it. The Quaffle arcs slightly, hurtling faster and faster, and then with an easy flourish, it sinks through the hoop. _

 

_ As exhilaration, relief, and joy fills Bucky, he watches the Gryffindor section of the stands erupt into rapturous cheers, but the sound never reaches him as he turns back to face his team and Steve at their own goalposts, because at that moment, there’s a sharp, hard blow to his left arm as a Bludger knocks into him. Bucky tumbles from his broom. _

 

_ As he plunges through the air, falling at incredible speed, all that registers in his mind is immense pain licking up his side like flame. The cheers that he finally begins to hear quickly turn to screams, and he dimly hears Steve’s cry for him above the crowd before he blacks out. _


	6. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As James attempts to reconnect with Steve, Daisy faces her own demons, especially that of her first love Lincoln. Daisy and James' relationship takes a major stumble.

_ “Hey, Johnson,” Ward calls as he moves on from assessing Piper and Davis’ dueling stances, “show me a Disarming Charm _ . _ ” _

 

_ “Really, Ward?” Daisy snarks as she Summons her wand to herself  from where it was stowed in her boot with an  _ Accio  _ wand - wandless magic is a new and incredibly difficult skill, especially for someone as young as Daisy, that she can’t help but show off now that she’s mastered. “I mastered that charm when I was twelve. Can’t I show you what I’ve been working on?” _

 

_ “Good for you,” Ward shoots back playfully, “but if you’re bored with what I have us doing for practice, then you should volunteer to lead it yourself next time. Now, cast the spell _ . _ ” _

 

_ She rolls her eyes but nonetheless flicks her wand with lazy but elegant ease, calling out, “ _ Expelliarmus _.” Immediately, Ward’s wand is jerked from his hand and flies through the air until Daisy catches it, smirking. “Told you.” _

 

_ Rather than being irritated, Ward looks amused. “Alright then. Show what you’ve been working on.” _

 

_ Stretching out her neck and arms, Daisy jabs her wand downwards, pointing it at the stone floor of the castle, and then she whispers an incantation under her breath. A soft, opaque light exudes from her wand, making contact with the ground, and the floor begins to tremble, softly at first but quickly increasing, almost like an earthquake, until the shaking has a few people stumbling back from the force. A few cracks form in the stone, but the wave of the spell passes quickly, and the tremors still. Daisy glances up, looking pleased. “So,” she asks. “What do you think? Honestly.” _

 

_ Ward’s eyes are wide, his expression a little shocked, but he quickly composes himself. “Impressive but...Where in the world have you even been practicing that?” _

 

_ “Near the lake.” Daisy shrugs, turning to Coulson and May for their approval. _

 

_ May gives her a slight nod, almost as expressive of her support as she’ll ever be, but Coulson’s smiling widely. “That’s great, Daisy! How did you come up with it?” _

 

_ Daisy grins herself, although her expression is slightly sheepish. Despite her good grades, her braininess isn’t necessarily what’s she’s known for, more so her hard work and snark, and she finds it a bit awkward to talk about her processes. “I modified an Exploding Charm,” she admits. “I made it so the charm would work less like an explosion and more like an earthquake, but I still have to use the Exploding Charm incantation. I need to work on it a bit. Hopefully soon, I’ll be able to do it wandlessly and maybe even nonverbally.” _

 

_ There’s almost a minute of silence as crickets chirp metaphorically.  _

 

_ “That's brilliant, Daisy,” Simmons finally cries out. “What are you going to call it?” _

 

_ “You should call it the Quake Charm,” Fitz suggests, tone eager and rushed, “This is cooler than the Night-Night.” _

 

_ The Night-Night, as the students in SHIELD like to call it, is a modified Stunning Spell that Fitz and Simmons invented in third-year in retaliation to Zola, their Head of House, insulting their spellwork. It knocks out the target as intended but for a longer duration of time and has a nasty aftereffect, including a terrible headache and sore limbs, that could incapacitate your target for even a bit longer after they wake up. Coulson called it almost twice as effective as the Stunning Spell when he was praising a beaming Fitz and Simmons for their work. Daisy’s been a practice target a couple of times while her favorite Ravenclaw duo were tweaking it, and she has no further desire to be on the other side of the spell.  _

 

_ “That’s high praise indeed,” Daisy says, beaming. “Thanks, Fitz.” _

 

_ Coulson’s enchanted sand timer runs out and emits a loud series of beeps; he glances at it, muting it with a wave of his hand. “I guess that’s time for today,” he says, and everyone groans. “Time to head back to your beds. Straight there and no delays. Especially you, Hunter. If I get any more complaints from the paintings, you’ll be cleaning my classroom by hand. No magic.” _

 

_ Hunter rolls his eyes in response, playfully saluting Coulson. Mack nudges him, whispering into his ear. On Hunter’s other side, his girlfriend Bobbi lightly whacks him on the head.  _

 

_ “Don’t worry, sir,” Mack says finally, stepping forward. “Bobbi and I will drop him off right at the Slytherin dungeons.” _

 

_ “Good,” May says, fixing Hunter, who gulps nervously, with a stern look.  _

 

_ Daisy hides her laughter, having been under May’s gaze herself many times in the past, as she heads to the classroom door after Fitz, Simmons, and Yo-Yo. They’re discussing the implications of one of the Goblin Rebellions - Daisy doesn’t bother determining which one - while Yo-Yo drops in with her commentary every few moments. Nodding and waving to Coulson, she moves to step out the classroom when someone calls her name. _

 

_ Bewildered, she glances back and finds Lincoln Campbell standing very awkwardly in a corner of the classroom while Ward and a few students talk to Coulson and May. He’s a fifth-year Ravenclaw and a friend of hers, though they don’t talk as often as she’d like. He only joined SHIELD last year, but earlier this year, they were partnered up when Coulson wanted them to learn healing spells, something Lincoln was much, much better at than her. _

 

_ “Hey,” Daisy says, smiling, as she approaches him. “What’s up?” _

 

_ Lincoln, tall and blond with the prettiest blue eyes Daisy’s ever seen and a smile that's usually mischievous, looks anxious. “Oh, hey,” he says, his hands fisted in his robes by his side. “Um, not much.” A beat. He seems to recompose himself and gather his courage. “I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me. To Hogsmeade. This Saturday.” _

 

_ Daisy’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back. “Uhhhh….” _

 

_ She wasn’t expecting that, not at all. No boy has really shown any interest in her before, and she doesn’t know what signs she’s supposed to look for, despite the rest of the girls in her year - besides Simmons and Yo-Yo - constantly going on dates, or at least it seems. Thus, she may not have read into it or even noticed if Lincoln has been dropping any hints. _

 

_ Still, it’s like she doesn’t like Lincoln. He’s funny and kind and almost as sarcastic as her. He never minds helping her out when she needs it. He’s also kinda nice to look at.  _

 

_ That’s why she tells him,“Yes.” _

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to talk about yesterday?” Daisy asks gently, seated on her couch across from James. She’s trying not to probe, though sometimes she has an incessant need to know everything. “We don’t have to if you don’t.”

 

He shakes his head. “No, I want to.” His fingers trail over the wood of his wand, and for the first time, Daisy realizes that he’s actually holding it, clutching onto it like it’s a lifeline. 

 

She doesn’t know what that bodes for him, but she sits back and lets him initiate the conversation. 

 

After a few minutes of stretched silence, he lifts his head, eyes soft.”Yesterday was incredibly painful, reuniting with Steve,” he says finally. “But it was necessary. It made me realize that I can't keep living the way I have been, with no one else in my life.”  _ No one else but you  _ is left implied but still hangs in the ensuing silence between them. He speaks again, voice gruff, “I have to face my past. Conquer my demons, whatever, you know what I mean. And I want to meet Steve again.” He inhales sharply, like he's ripped off a bandage.

 

Daisy’s at a loss for words; she wasn't expecting that. “That's...that's good,” she breathes. “That's recovery.” She blinks. “That's really good, James.” She's kinda proud. “How can I help?”

 

Immediately, he jumps on her offer. “I want to contact Steve.” A beat. “I dunno how though. Owl?”

 

Chuckling, Daisy shakes her head. “Nah, dude. An owl would never find his address. Nor would you be able to access his fireplace through the Floo Network. He’s Head Auror and a war hero. He and Peggy probably have layers upon layers of magical protection on their apartment. Contacting his department via Floo might be your best bet, since it’s a public office.”

 

“And so?” James asks, gesturing for her to go on. “What do I do with the Floo Network? I can’t just stick my head in there. I think the Ministry would also have their own safety wards and shit.”

 

Daisy rolls her eyes. “You’d have to write a note. Here,” she flicks her wand to Summon a piece of parchment and a quill, which settle upon her coffee table, “use these.” She pushes the parchment and quill towards James. 

 

He reaches for the parchment and pulls it closer to him but grasps the quill warily. “Do you have another writing utensil?” A beat. “A pen or something?”

 

“Uhhh…” she hesitates, scrambling to think. “I dunno, but I could Transfigure the quill into a pen or something.”

 

“Nah,” James says stiffly, his grip around the quill tightening. He begins to write shakily on the parchment, tracing letters and words out like he’s in primary school and learning for the first time. He scribbles his note out, handing it to Daisy a few minutes later.

 

She does her best not to glance down it and try to read it, instead folding it and sealing it with a wave of her hand. “C’mon,” she says, rising to her feet and moving to her fireplace. Although it came built into her apartment, she’s never used it before, and she snaps her fingers to spark a fire - she’ll never,  _ ever _ tire of her ability to do magic without a wand and nonverbally. She still has a little box of Floo powder on the mantle, which she reaches into to grab a pinch.

 

Tossing the powder into the fireplace, she calls out, “Head Auror Steve Roger’s office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic.” The flame sparks green, and she turns to James. “Do you wanna do it?”

 

Wordlessly, he holds out his hand, and she drops the note into his palm. He kneels down and slowly but carefully tosses it into the flame, which burns bigger and brighter for a moment before dying down to ember, the note gone. 

 

James sighs and stands up, facing Daisy, shoulders slumping. “That was more stressful than it had any right to be.”

 

She chuckles. “Shit like this is always stressful. It comes with growing up and with a past like ours.”

 

“We have to face our past eventually,” he mutters under his breath, as if it’s not met to be heard by her. He glances up and locks eyes with her, gaze serious. When he speaks, his tone is gentle but stern. “Daisy, I know that I might not really have a say in this, but I think that it’s time to for you to face your own.”

 

“What?” Her eyes narrow.  _ He can’t seriously be talking about what I think he is  _ is all that runs through her head.

 

“I saw your face,” he begins slowly, “in the cafe. When Peggy brought up Coulson and SHIELD. You looked like it hurt you that they were happy, especially since it was without you. Trust me, I know how that feels.” A beat. “I think you should reach out to them.”

 

Everything about his words is framed like a suggestion, but irritation still rises in her. She shoves it down, knowing that he means well. “Thank you,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “I’m sure your intentions are in the right place, but that’s a choice I’ll make for myself.”

 

“Alright,” James replies, holding his hands up before him, “just a suggestion. I just want to help you like you’ve been helping me.”

 

She nods but begins to move towards the kitchen instead. “Do you want something to eat? I think we still have leftovers.”

 

James jumps to his feet. “Lemme warm them. You already helped me today; I’m pretty sure I can at least heat up dinner in return.”

 

She laughs shakily, nerves still a bit ragged.  _ He meant well _ , she repeats in her mind; she’s just not used to people caring about her. It was a trait well-ingrained in her from Saint Agnes, and young Fitz and Simmons had to fight hard as first-years to get her to let them in, to prove that they meant well. But it’s been a long, hard, and lonely ten years since that. She remembers the last time she really let anyone in, anyone who cared about her, and the fate that befell them. At her own hands, too.

 

Lincoln was sweet and undeserving of his ultimate death. He treated her well and somehow got her to lower her defenses, snuck in past her high wall, got her to care about him. Despite theirs being a juvenile love forged against the backdrop of a school, Daisy had always felt that it could be something deeper, something closer to true and what was depicted in the fairy tales. Of course, that was sixteen-year-old Daisy Johnson who had clung to the fairy tales because her parents had gotten themselves killed and landed her in one of the loneliest place in the world, despite New York being a city of billions. 

 

Still, Lincoln had been one hell of a boyfriend, and she’d been happy with him. It had been nice having someone who cared for you in a different way than friends, a way that James might end up heading if Daisy’s not careful.

 

She had fallen for Lincoln as easily as magic and could just as easily fall for James.

 

* * *

 

_ “No way,” Daisy insists, snorting with amusement, “there's no way you actually did that to Zola.” They’re walking back to the castle, having left the trip to Hogsmeade early since Lincoln claimed that he had a bit of homework to do. She thinks he just wants to get a head start on OWL prep, despite the exams still being months away. Ah, Ravenclaws. _

 

_ Lincoln shakes his head. “No, I did. I snuck into his office and spelled his chair with the most powerful Sticking Charm I could. He got stuck there for almost an hour until he finally undid the spell and tore his robes free.” He glances up at the sun caught high in the sky. _

 

_ She breaks into laughter. “I can't believe….and you never got caught?”  _

 

_ “Nope,” Lincoln replies in that same dry and pointed tone that Daisy’s grown accustomed to throughout the afternoon. “When you have forty or more Ravenclaws capable of doing the same spell, it's kinda hard to pinpoint one.” He chuckles. “It was glorious to see Zola's face. He was furious. That prank was well worth the risk.” _

 

_ Inching closer to him, Daisy smiles. “Yeah, Zola deserved it. I wish I could pull that off.” As they continue to walk, her shoulder brushes against his. _

 

_ “I heard that you aren’t so bad yourself with pranks. Is it true you convinced Peeves to drop dungbombs in the hallways for an entire month?” He snorts when Daisy nods. “What did it cost?” _

 

_ “Oh, you don’t want to know,” she assures him. “Peeves is one manipulative bastard of a poltergeist. Weirdly really smart for how annoying he is.” _

 

_ His lips curve up into a smile. “Hey,” he says, stopping suddenly in the shadow of a castle corner, “you outwitted him. You’re pretty smart yourself. The earthquake spell was impressive.” _

 

_ “Thanks.” Daisy’s too busy blushing, bright pink staining her cheeks, to notice Lincoln duck his head slightly and bend towards her until his lips brush softly against her. Her breath catches in her throat, and she freezes. _

 

_ Anxiously, Lincoln takes a step back. “That okay?” _

 

_ “Of course.” She nods in sync with her words as double affirmation, and when Lincoln hesitates a bit, she rises on her toes to complete the three inches between them and kisses him herself. _

 

_ It’s awkward, hesitant, and a little unsure, but it’s everything the first kiss of a first love should be, and it’s everything to Daisy. _

 

* * *

 

“I want you to help me get used to magic again,” James says as they rest in bed in her apartment after another round of explosive sex a few days after their venture into Diagon Alley, eyes fixed on the sheets that covered his lower half. “Guide me through a few spells, shit like that.”

 

“ _ What? _ ” Daisy asks, sitting up in bed suddenly, taken aback by his request. “Are you sure?” Her attempts at getting him acclimatized to magic again worked, and now he barely flinches whenever she performs a spell. As to whether he unconsciously noticed his improvement or not or the fact she had been trying to help him - she didn’t exactly bring that up in conversation. Still, his own attempt at trying to actually  _ perform  _ magic was unexpected; she hadn’t thought he was even close to wanting to.

 

“Never been more,” James murmurs, and she barely manages to catch his words. He speaks up again, more loudly, “Yeah. It’s like you said, recovery. Actually doing a spell or something would be good progress, help me get over my aversion to it. I remember how wonderful it was, to do the Levitation Charm in first-year; that somehow stuck in my Swiss-cheese memory. I want to feel like that again about magic, remember how wonderful it was when it was being used as a weapon, when I wasn’t being used as a weapon.”

 

_ When I wasn’t being used as a weapon _ . Daisy’s heart seizes and skips a beat. It couldn’t be possible, could it, that James too shares her past, that they’ve been through the same shit. She knows that she wasn’t the only one forcibly turned traitor, but how fucking ironic would it be if it was true and that she and James had somehow found each other. It would mean that there was someone else in the world who knew what it felt like to lose control. To have their life stolen from them. To have blood on their hands, blood that belonged to their friends and family. To twice hurt people that loved them, first through war and then through abandonment. 

 

That would be fucking ironic, fucking cruel, and fucking impossible, so Daisy does what she does best with emotions like hope and happiness; she shoves it down deep.

 

“Alright,” she says, burrowing herself into her blankets and curling herself against his warm side. “I’ll come up with some kind of little practice for you to go through later.”

 

“Later?” James teases. “Why not now?”

 

“Because,” she murmurs as she tilts her head, mouthing down James’ neck, nipping slightly at the base of his throat and along the line of his shoulder. She slides a daring hand under his shirt and up the rippling muscles of his abdomen. “Because I want you to fuck me right now.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you want for lunch?” Daisy asks as she rifles through her kitchen, hoping to find something edible. They’ve subsisted on takeout for far too long in the past week, and she wants to actually cook something, but she needs to find ingredients first.

 

“Honestly,” James begins, but the rest of his words are snuffed out by the loud  _ whoosh  _ of her fireplace as it lights, the flames expanding and flaring green, before spitting out a folded slip of parchment.

 

“Huh,” she says, bewildered, since it’s not every day that she gets a Floo message. Of course, the list of choices of who it could be from is very short. She turns around to watch James bend over and retrieve it from the carpet where it landed, unfolding it. 

 

He reads the note with bated breath, eyes scanning the parchment quickly, expression tight. When he’s done, he finally exhales. “It’s from Steve,” he explains, coming to Daisy’s side and gingerly handing her the note.

 

Smoothing the crease out, she begins to read it:

 

_ Dear James, _

 

_ So, so sorry for the late reply, jerk, but your note got lost in the daily mail for my office, and I only found it today. Please don’t think I was ignoring you on purpose.  _

 

_ Anyways, I would love to meet you again. Would you like to get drinks at a pub some time in the evening this week? I’m free after six most days unless something comes up (if it does, I’ll let you know).  _

 

_ ‘Til the end of the line, jerk. _

 

_ Love,  _

_ Steve _

 

At the bottom of the parchment, a quick sentence is scribbled like an afterthought.  _ PS: Next time, just send a message through Floo to my apartment.  _ Daisy recognizes the address provided as belonging to the slightly posher side of Wizarding London, which strikes her an unexpected; she would have thought that the Head Auror would live in a large manor in the countryside. In retrospect, she realizes that Steve likely lives alone, seeing that Peggy lives at Hogwarts where she serves as Headmistress. 

 

“That’s good, right?” she asks once she’s done reading the note. “He wants to see you again! This is a great step forward.”

 

James nods, head bowed. He looks like he’s deep in thought. Then a moment later, he finally glances up and smiles brightly, lips parting to reveal his brilliant white teeth, expression transforming his features until he looks young and boyish and setting Daisy’s heart aflutter by reminding her of just how devastatingly handsome he is. “I can’t believe I can see Steve again,” he says. “I can’t believe...I thought I had fucked everything up...I can’t believe.” He bounces slightly on the heels of his feet, rocking back and forth childishly and huffing in quiet laughter. “Thank you,” he says, leaning forward and planting an unexpected kiss to her mouth.

 

Pressed into a corner of her kitchen, Daisy slings an arm around his neck and throws her other around his waist, tugging him as close to her as she can, relishing in his body heat as his lips remain heavily on hers, and leans up to bridge the few inches of height he has on her. The counter digs into her lower back, she cares not, busy with kissing him back deeply. 

 

When they finally separate, breathless, he rests his forehead against hers, the storm in his eyes momentarily quelled as they soulfully bore into hers. “ _ Thank you _ ,” he whispers, his words holding a gravitas that resonates deep in her bones, and his breath huffs out against the bare skin of her neck.

 

* * *

 

It’s late morning one Wednesday, and both Daisy and James lie aimlessly on her bed. James’ meeting with Steve is tomorrow, and they’ve both already given up on their work for the day, his manuscripts lying on the floor besides detailed diagrams of a particularly trick curse Daisy’s trying to break. Daisy amuses herself by forming and shapy wispy smoke in the air above them while James is focusing on keeping a crumpled ball of paper aloft. Yesterday, they figured out that he can perform some pretty complex spells - seventh-year stuff, though it’ll take a few minutes for him to get the wandwork and incantation right - and some simple wandless and nonverbal magic, so Daisy’s challenged him to hold a spell for as long as he can.

 

There’s bright sunlight drifting through the lacy curtains that hang loosely before the windows, and it casts a warm dewy glow on them, illuminating the dimples near James’ smile and turning the rich brown of his hair into an almost gold. This moment seems temporal, disconnected from the rest of the world, with warm feelings bubbling up in Daisy’s chest that she wants to bottle up forever, preserving them alongside this moment as a precious memory for the future. She never thought she would be able to experience this kind of peace again, but this moment is proof and to be cherished.

 

What she feels right now is dangerous, incredibly so, but she allows herself to bask in it for just a moment. She didn’t expect to be able to connect with another person so deeply. It’s not romantic, she won’t let it be, but they’re just two lost souls coming together, fighting their demons, healing. It’s some poetic shit, but it’s not love. It can’t be.

 

At that moment, James blinks and loses concentration; the paper ball slightly bounces up and down before quivering in its place. Then it plunges down and unexpectedly smacks straight into James’ face, the man yelping and flinching, before it rolls down to the ground. James brushes his hand across his face in alarm. “Merlin, only seven minutes? What am I, a firstie?”

 

Laughter bubbles out of Daisy at the sight, and James turns to glare at her. “Whatcha looking at, Johnson?” he questions playfully. 

 

“You,” she replies, reaching out to flick his ear. He retaliates by wordlessly and wandlessly flinging the paper ball at the side of her head. Before it makes contact, the paper glows like an ember before smouldering and eventually dissipating into the air, James watching in astonishment. Daisy takes advantage of his momentary lapse of focus to clamber up on top of his body, straddling his waist and planting her arms on either side of his shoulders. “You can’t beat me,” she warns him, amusement light in her voice, bowing her head to brush her lips gently against his. “I will always win.” She trails her lips along the sharp edge of his cheekbones and jaw. “Always.”

 

He’s gazing up at her oddly, a dazed expression in his beautiful blue eyes - Daisy still has to shove the thought of Lincoln away every time she meets his gaze, the shade of blue exactly the same, almost like he’s taking her in for the first time. She shivers, skin prickling and warming not unpleasantly.

 

“What?” she asks, snapping her fingers before his eyes to regain his attention.

 

“I love you,” James blurts out, smile dopey and bright.

 

In an ideal world, where they were two different people, where Daisy was who she was when she remained part of SHIELD and hadn’t reverted to who she used to be as an orphan, before Hogwarts, and where James despised his birth name and was more of a Bucky than James, Daisy might have been able to say,  _ I love you too _ . But this isn’t an ideal world, only an ideal moment. Daisy’s still Daisy. James is still James. Instead, Daisy presses her lips together so hard that they turn white. “No.”

 

“I’m sorry.” He blinks in response, alarm flooding his features. “ _ What _ ?”

 

“No,” she repeats. There’s a storm brewing inside her brain, and her heart will be left behind as wreckage.

 

“I’m sorry.” James sits up, gaping at her, still not comprehending her words. “ _ No _ ?”

 

“No. No, you don’t love me.”

 

His eyes narrow. “How would you even know what I feel?”

 

“It’s not love,” she states rationally, eyes focused anywhere but on his face so she doesn’t have to see the hurt and devastation. “It can’t be. It’s not love. It’s a near form of codependency.” 

 

Immediately, he falls quiet, and her words hang heavy in the silence between them, echoing in her ears, taunting her.

 

_ It’s not love. It’s a near form of codependency _ .

 

Finally, he speaks, slow and deliberate, “Do you really think that me loving you is a form of codependency? That I can’t know my own heart? That I can’t love you?”

 

As much as it pains her to, Daisy nods. “Yes.” A beat. “I really do.”

 

“ _ Why _ ?”

 

“Because...it’s like you said in the bar, you recognized the demons in my eyes because you saw them in your own. We were - and still are - two broken, haunted people, and I guess that I was the first person you grew close to in over a decade,”  _ because that’s who you were to me _ , which she doesn’t say, “after the war. We opened up to each other; we were the first people we both really bonded with in a long time. You latched onto me like a lifeline and called it love. But it’s not. It’s codependency. We already spend so much time together, and I don’t want your recovery to be linked solely to me.” 

 

A muscle in his jaw flexes, and he glances away, expression tight. “I understand,” he says numbly. Then he slips from the bed and rises to his feet, gathering his belongings by hand.

 

Daisy’s heart skips a beat. “Wait,” she says desperately. “What are you doing?”

 

He turns to glance at her finally, and the pain and certainty in his features causes her to flinch. “I think we should take a break.” He hesitates briefly, as if waiting for Daisy to reply, but no words come to her tongue, and when she says nothing, he nods. “Good bye, Daisy Johnson.” He turns on his heel, and with a loud and violent  _ crack _ , he Apparates from her bedroom.

 

She stares at the spot that James had been standing at, just a moment previous, wondering if she’s made a grave mistake.


	7. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone for the first time in a while without Daisy by his side, a heart-broken James attempts to repair his fractured relationship with Steve.

_ You latched onto me like a lifeline and called it love _ .

 

Daisy’s words echo through James’ ears, haunting him, mocking him. His heart twinges every time he hears her voice in his head. 

 

He’d Apparated only a few streets away, at first aiming for his apartment but when the pressure from the world blurring around him grew to be much, he’d frantically envisioned an hidden alley he knew. Moments later, he’d landed on his feet in the alley, barely even stumbling, narrowly having avoided a Splinching injury. But he doesn’t care, doesn’t give a fuck. He thought he knew emotional pain, or well, pain in general, but it feels like Daisy tore out his heart and ripped it to shreds.

 

The London streets around him are empty, the sky above beaming brightly down on him, so he brings his head low and continues to walk, mulling over Daisy’s words. He’s never felt heartache before nor has he felt love; in the past ten years, James Barnes could barely muster enough courage to open up his life to someone else, yet alone his heart. And before that, in Hogwarts, as Bucky, from what he remembers, he’d had schoolboy crushes, shared kisses, dates, but nothing serious, nothing shared like Steve and Peggy. 

 

When he had glanced up at Daisy, warmth had spread across his body, leaving his fingertips numb and tingly, happiness bubbling up in his chest like fizzy champagne. He’d imagined that that was love felt like, but now, an idea sparks in his mind, fanned into flames by the shreds of his wounded heart.

 

Daisy could be  _ right _ , he realizes. He wouldn’t know. They both haven’t truly lived emotionally healthy lives for the last decade. He let her in and thinks he fell for her...it could just be that he’s come to depend on her. 

 

James chews on this as he arrives before his apartment building and makes his way to his front door, shutting it behind him.

 

_ You wouldn’t know _ , he muses,  _ because you shut everyone out the moment you hurt _ .

 

He glances at his reflection, studying his own image, the tightness to his mouth, his red-rimmed eyes, the hair dishevelled beyond repair from his hand raking through it continuously.

 

_ You wouldn’t know… _

 

* * *

 

_ “...you couldn’t know,” Steve assures him, sitting a mere number of feet away from Bucky’s bed in the Hospital Wing. “You were doing what you were supposed to. It wasn’t your fault that you got hit by a fucking Bludger.” _

 

_ In response, Bucky nods tiredly, only half-listening; it’s been a long two weeks of him being stuck in this bed. Most of his attention is on Steve, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s thinking about how often that he and Steve find themselves in this situation, in the Hospital Wing, except positions reversed. It’s usually Steve in the hospital bed after a fight or from taking particularly ill, Bucky chewing him out, although Steve’s been better about it ever since he started dating Peggy. Still, Steve was last in that chair when Bucky came down with Spattergroit in first-year when he’d sat rigid as a board, boney elbows and legs uncomfortable in the unyielding chair. Now, he’s slumped against the chair, gangly but muscular legs stretched out in front of him, concerned cornflower blue gaze fixed on the other boy. _

 

_ “I could have known,” Bucky replies irritatedly, barely stirring his head to face Steve. His entire body  _ aches _ , and he doesn’t know if it’s from being hit by a flying ball and crashing into the ground or the healing potion the Healer gave him taking effect. “If I wasn’t so focused on the Quaffle, I could have avoided being hit by the fucking Bludger. Besides, what was it for? They caught the Snitch a moment anyways. We lost.” _

 

_ “Buck,” Steve replies, pleadingly.  _

 

_ “Go away, Steve. We all can’t be the golden boy like you.” The moment he says it, Bucky regrets it, wishes to take it back, but Steve, being the stubborn, mulish asshole that he is, only nods, muscles in his jaw tightening. Then he rises and wordlessly shuffles out, leaving Bucky alone and hating himself. _

 

_ It’s true that in recent years, Steve has risen in popularity and that, coupled with his decent grades, creative eyes, puberty, and being the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, means that attention of the students flocks straight to him, their eyes skipping straight over Bucky. Bucky doesn’t want to say that he’s jealous, he loves Steve immensely and is so proud of him, but with his parents’ divorce last year and having it confirmed that Becca’s a Squib, he’s been kinda of moody for a few months. He’s driven off a few of his friends, despite Steve standing firmly by his side. His grades too have taken a hit, dipping slightly, and he’s gonna have to work hard to get them back up if he wants to get into Auror training next year. So everything coupled with this accident - which means that he can’t play Quidditch for about a month, despite the Skele-gro and other potions the Healer’s been pouring down his throat - is a bit too much for Bucky.  _

 

_ The time he’s been stuck in the Hospital Wing certainly hasn’t helped nor has the knowledge that he’s going to be stuck in here for another few weeks. Sometimes, he wonders if all he will ever see for the rest of his life are these annoying familiar walls, the white curtains that divide his bed from the rest of the Hospital Wing, and Steve and Peggy and occasionally a few other friends who bring him homework. _

 

_ Of course, due to his reaction to Steve, he’s not surprised when the next day his homework is delivered by Peggy, who smiles at him but asks him to be a bit more patient with Steve. His shoulders slump, and he nods, tugging his head away from facing her. This trend persists over the rest of the week until Bucky’s seen Peggy again and an assortment of the Howling Commandos but never Steve. The punk really knows how to hold a grudge, which means that it’d likely that Bucky won’t be able to apologize until he gets out of the Hospital Wing. _

 

_ So it’s really the loneliness that drives him to slip from the bed and tiptoe out of the Hospital Wing, wand clutched tight in his grip, all the privacy spells and charms that he can think of cast. His body aches with every step, only further reminding him of the fact that he nearly almost died, not that he likes to think of it. No person, Muggle or wizard, would survive a plunge to the ground, and the only reason Bucky’s currently standing in a Hogwarts hallway, still breathing despite the fact that his ribs hurt, is because some professor managed to cast a momentum spell in time. _

 

_ Bucky continues on through the empty, dark hallway, heading for a stairway so that he can make his way to the kitchens, when faint warning bells - Barnes witches and wizards have always had a nose like a bloodhound for magic and wrongdoings; it’s why his parents make such great politicians, and why he’s always coming after Steve when he’s in trouble - go off in the back of his mind. He tiptoes much more slowly and quietly onwards, peering forward as much as he can in the blanket of darkness. There’s something fishy going on ahead, but there must be bloody good privacy charms like Bucky’s that prevent him from sensing it. _

 

_ Luckily for him - and unluckily for the perpetrators, he spent most of the summer while he and Becca were getting bounced from his dad’s new place back to their family home reading about advanced spellwork, information that his brain actually retained. Thus, he murmurs a countercharm and creeps forward, checking to ensure that his own spellwork still holds and protects him. Then as voices spill forward and the perpetrators are finally revealed, his mouth drops open in shock. _

 

_ Brock Rumlow and his little sidekick Rollins stand clustered in a shadowy alcove of the hallway. This part isn’t unexpected in the least - Bucky’s always suspected Rumlow and his gang of getting up to illicit activities after curfew, but what is alarming is the younger student - Hufflepuff by the looks of her scarf - caught between them, Rumlow’s wand jabbed to her throat.  _

 

_ “I know you heard,” Rumlow growls, the girl trembling before him from the heavy threat in his tone. “Tell me who else you told.” He shoves his wand closer. _

 

_ “I swear,” the girl replies, white as a sheet and eyes wide and with a teary sheen. “I didn’t tell anyone. I swear on Merlin. Please don’t hurt me.” _

 

_ Rollins makes a sound of disapproval low in his throat at her answer. “I saw her talking to Professor Stoner earlier,” he tells Rumlow, eyes dark. “If she’s told anyone, Pierce will have our hides. It could ruin everything.” _

 

_ Snarling, Rumlow tightens his grip on his wand. “If you won’t talk by yourself, I’ll have ways to make you talk.” His lips begin to form the first syllables of  _ Crucio _ , and Bucky, who had been watching with bated breath and clenched fists so far, leaps out of the shadows, wand ready and eyes blazing. _

 

_ In doing so, he accidentally drops all his previous privacy spells, but he has a spell ready at the tip of his tongue and knocks out Rollins with a Stunning Spell and blasting Rumlow into the wall. “Run,” he gasps to Hufflepuff, poised on the balls of his feet, and she takes off immediately, hurtling in the direction that he knows leads to both the kitchens and the Hufflepuff Common Room. Then he turns back to Rumlow. “Cruciatus Curses are highly illegal.” Anger rises up in him as it finally registers in his mind what the other boy had planned to do to the girl. “Unforgivables will earn you a lifetime in Azkaban. You won’t last more than a week in there with the Dementors.” His bones ache from his sudden movement, and a sharp jolt of pain is beginning to creep up his left arm, a frequent side effect of his Quidditch accident. _

 

_ Rumlow laughs cruelly, demeanor recovered and relaxed, wand raised and pointed straight at Bucky. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Barnes.” _

 

_ Rage sweeps over him, and he fires off a succession of spells at the Slytherin, who dodges each and every one of them. Bucky’s surprised that no professor has rushed down to investigate. “You really are evil, Rumlow,” he remarks. _

 

_ Rumlow’s responding smile sends shivers down Bucky’s spine just before he’s hit with an invisible spell and knocked to the ground. Rumlow walks towards him, standing above him, and all Bucky sees is the narrow tip of the Slytherin’s wand pointed at him. _

 

_ “ _ Imperio. _ ” _

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for meeting me,” Steve says, expression very,  _ very  _ awkward, from where they are both crammed into opposite sides of a booth at the pub he had suggested. “It means a lot.”

 

“I kinda owed you,” James replies, shrugging helplessly as much as the tiny booth will allow for - it really wasn’t meant for two grown men of their size and shape.  _ For the distancing myself from you and not talking to you for a decade thing  _ goes unsaid but understood between them.

 

Steve attempts to crack a smile, and though it looks a bit more like a grimace, the sentiment is still there. Before he can respond, two flagons of mead are floated towards their table, guided by the bartender, and settle down with a loud  _ clunk _ .

 

James sighs quietly in relief and immediately pulls a flagon towards him, latching onto its handle and nearly draining half of it.

 

“I didn’t think my company was that bad,” Steve remarks, only sounding the slightest bit bitter, to his credit.

 

Shaking his head in response, James hesitates to extend a reassuring hand to Steve, ultimately deciding against it. “It’s not you, punk. I’ve had a rough couple of days.” 

 

It’s only been two days since Daisy broke his heart after all, but Steve doesn’t need to know about that.

 

“Oh,” Steve says, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry. That was a bit presumptuous of me. Peggy tells me that I can be a bit thickheaded.”

 

“You always were,” James murmurs to himself, snorting, and he knows that Steve caught his remark from the glint of humor in the other man’s eyes. 

 

“What have you been up to, Bu-” Steve begins to ask but catches himself. “What have you been up to, James? Honestly.”

 

It’s an invitation to address the decade they’d been separated without rehashing the reason why, and so he immediately jumps on it. “Honestly...not much.” A beat. “After graduation and after my parents died, I fled to Romania. I lived isolated there, like a Muggle. Couldn’t bring myself to do magic after the war. I didn’t really need money since I had my inheritance, but I did some manual labor to keep myself busy.” Another beat. “Then I moved back here and have been working as a book editor for a few years. It’s kinda awful sometimes but mostly alright, though I make enough.” He doesn’t glance up, unable to meet Steve’s eyes.

 

There’s a brief but awful pause of silence that makes James wish beyond belief that he was a Legilimens so that he would be able to know what’s currently stewing in Steve’s mind. Finally, Steve speaks, “Did you ever intend to see me if we hadn’t run into each other?”

 

“Don’t ask me that,” James pleads, heart twinging. “Stevie…” When Steve’s vulnerable expression doesn’t abate, he is forced to reply. “No, Steve, I never intended to.”

 

Steve swallows down the lump in his throat, nodding slowly. “Thank you,” he says. “I just...needed to know. I don’t blame you.” A beat. “I don’t blame you at all.”

 

“Thank you,” James replies, his words quiet and forced out from where they lay sticky in his throat. 

 

The other man nods again. 

 

“Now,” James begins conversationally, trying to move towards something lighter. “Tell me how you proposed to Peggy and how you waited nine years to do so, you hopeless punk.”

 

Throwing his head back, Steve laughs loudly and joyfully. “I certainly missed you, you fucking jerk.”

 

It feels so much like falling back into their old groove for even just a moment that James smiles lightly.  _ I missed you too _ , he thinks but doesn’t say, unwilling to bring down the mood again. “Well, tell me,” he prompts.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, Peg and I had both agreed that we would focus on our careers before getting engaged or married. She didn’t want her becoming the youngest Headmistress ever or me becoming Head Auror to outshine each other or our relationship.” His expression becomes fond. “It worked out so much that we both accomplished our goals. So a week after I became Head Auror, I used my first salary from the job to buy a ring, and then February rolled around-”

 

James can’t help but cut in, “Are you telling me that Steve Rogers, hopeless romantic, proposed on Valentine’s Day?”

 

“Shuddup, Barnes. No, Peggy would hate that.” Steve mock-glares at him. “No, I waited for a few days later, when Peggy returned from Hogwarts for the weekend, and I employed the help of Angie-”

 

James cuts him off again, “Angie, Peggy’s best friend, the Hufflepuff?”

 

The other man nods in response before continuing, “She distracted Peg while I got the dinner ready and everything set up. Then I popped the question.” His eyes are bright and glowing with happiness, and James feels of a spark of joy in himself, glad that his best friend is happy.

 

He does his best to squash down the bitter shred of jealousy chewing at his insides, wondering why it can’t be that easy and natural and happy for him and Daisy. If there even is a him and Daisy. Are they truly comparable to Steve and Peggy? Daisy didn’t seem to think so.

 

Casting these melancholic thoughts away, he turns back to Steve. “I’m so happy for you, punk. A fairy tale ending. You’ve got it all.”

 

Steve doesn’t reply, his expression tight, but his eyes seem to scream,  _ You could have that too _ . A moment later, seemingly sensing James’ faltering mood, he rushes on, “How’s Daisy doing?”

 

James holds his composure, not willing to allow even the smallest muscle to twitch out of place. His internal and emotional conflict about Daisy is to remain his, no matter who Steve is to him. “She’s alright,” he says honestly. “I haven’t seen her in a few days; I’ve been a bit busy with my work.” A beat. “How are the Commandos? Do you see them often?”

 

“A couple times a month,” Steve says, nodding before launching into a tale about the last time they’d all gotten together and drunk a pub dry. James nods along, laughing at all the right places, letting Steve’s humor overpower the little place in his heart that told him that he should have been there too, in that pub with the Commandos, but he’d lost that chance and now can only hope to regain it back.

 

At least if he can’t have Daisy, he can have Steve and his old life back.

 

* * *

 

_ At first, all there is is the most wonderful feeling Bucky has ever felt. A floating sensation that wipes away every thought and worry in his head, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. A sea of calm washing over him. _

 

_ Out of the floating comes a voice, instructions,  _ Behave normally, Barnes. Make no one suspicious.

 

_ Bucky will obey, of course he will. It would be his greatest pleasure, the only thing to do, really. _

 

_ Then the idyllic feeling dissipated, and anger overwhelmed him as Bucky found himself laying on his bed in the Hospital Wing, the memory of Rumlow fresh in his head no matter how much time he’d lost to the curse. He’s swift to jump to his feet and storms out of the Hospital Wing, pain racing up his spine with every step, but he never stills, barging straight into the hallway. It’s a Thursday, and the Slytherins have always had Transfiguration with the Gryffindors, so Bucky knows exactly where to find Brock Rumlow. _

 

_ He shrugs off and ignores the various calls from his confused Gryffindors, including a bewildered  _ Bucky? Shouldn’t you be in bed? _ from Steve. Bucky charges straight up to Rumlow, shouldering roughly past the other Slytherins, his wand clutched tightly in his grip.  _

 

_ Then he punches Rumlow straight in the face with his curled-up fist, and Rumlow drops like a stone. _

 

_ Bucky finds himself on the floor, kneeling above Rumlow, his wand jabbed straight into the Slytherin’s throat, hissing, “I know what you did. You vile, vile snake. You fucking monster. You will pay for that.” He isn’t exactly aware of what he’s threatening Rumlow with, but he’s still hissing when someone hoists him off Rumlow, who is lifted to his own feet by another Slytherin. _

 

_ Snarling like a feral animal, Bucky is struggling to reach Rumlow when a familiar voice whispers hurriedly in his ear, “Stop, Buck. You’re making this worse.” It’s Steve, pressing a supportive but still authoritative hand into Bucky’s spine. _

 

_ “What,” comes a stern and intimidating voice, punctuated by the click of shoes as Professor Alexander Pierce strolls towards them, “in Merlin’s name is going on here?” _

 

_ Some Slytherin is all too eager to reply. “Bloody Barnes over there attacked Brock. Rogers had to pull him off.” His tone is gleeful but tinged with threat as he darts a hateful glare at Bucky and Steve. _

 

_ “Is that true, Mr. Rogers?” Despite Pierce behaving completely politely, his deliberate pronunciation of Steve’s last name sends shivers up Bucky’s spine. _

 

_ “Yes,” Steve says, nodding, “but I’m sure that Rumlow did something to warrant-” _

 

_ “Alas,” Pierce cuts him off, “you are but a Quidditch captain, Mr. Rogers. Leave the speculation to those with academic stature.” _

 

_ Steve bristles in response, expression going tight. Bucky still slumps loosely against him in his grip. “I’m sure, Professor,” Steve replies, slowly and carefully. _

 

_ “Now, I shall take care of Barnes and Rumlow,” Pierce states, casting an uneasy stare at the students clustered in the hallway. “Follow me to my office. The rest of you, I believe that you have classes to attend.” The students stand frozen until Pierce snaps his fingers once, the sound echoing in the silence. Then they scatter. _

 

_ Bucky finds himself being dragged to Piece’s office, an invisible force tugging his sleeve while Pierce leads them forward. Rumlow, his nose flowing freely with blood, is just half a step behind the professor. Once Pierce sweeps through his door, Bucky is thrown into a chair, where although he is not magically bound, he might as well be, under the Slytherin’s gaze. Pierce situates himself, leaning against his desk, to face Bucky, and with a grand flourish of the professor’s hand, a low vise-like pressure on his throat that he nearly hadn’t noticed before releases, and Bucky finds himself able to speak again; Pierce had somehow cast and released a Silencing Charm on Bucky without him even noticing. _

 

_ “What are you going to do, Professor?” Bucky asks, voice tight and level. “A detention? A Quidditch ban? It won’t be worth it. I was only retaliating at Rumlow, because he cast the Imperius Curse on me.” A beat. “I can prove it. You can check my memories.” _

 

_ Pierce’s eyes widen slightly as alarm briefly spreads throughout his features, but he immediately regains his composure. “Now, that’s a troubling allegation,” he says smoothly. “Do you have anything else to add?” _

 

_ Under his gaze, Bucky bristles. “Yes,” he spits out, “Rumlow was about to use the Cruciatus Curse on a second-year Hufflepuff. You can ask her.” _

 

_ “Oh, yes. Mr. Barnes. Thank you for that information.” A beat. “You’ve always been an intriguing case to me. Son of what is practically Pureblood royalty in the States, but you choose to spend your time with that half-blood Rogers. You are capable of so much more.” The professor turns to face Rumlow, a calm  _ something  _ to his voice that causes Bucky to shiver. “Another loose end, Brock,” he tells Rumlow. “Were you ever going to mention that?” _

 

_ The Slytherin rapidly shakes his head; Bucky observes that the expression on his face is careful and hesitant. “I was going to take care of it, Professor,” Rumlow explains. _

 

It _ , not her. Like the Hufflepuff they are discussing isn’t a person. _

 

_ “In the same way that you took care of Barnes here?” Pierce asks, and abrupt, Bucky realizes that the professor’s mannerisms and actions remind him of a predator. Not like the symbolic snakes of Slytherin. More like a hawk or a wolf. “You almost ruined years of careful planning due to an inability to stay in control of your temper or magic, stupid boy.” _

 

_ “I’m sorry, Professor.” Rumlow bows his head almost reverently, leaving Bucky bewildered, and stands completely still in supplication. _

 

_ Pierce flicks his hand lazily, and immediately, Rumlow drops to the floor, writhing around in pain, his mouth open in a silent scream, no noise at all. _

 

_ Then as quickly as the spell starts, it’s over, a display of nonverbal and wandless magic commanded by Pierce with a relaxed grace and elegance like he’s some kind of ruler or god punishing his subordinate. _

 

_ With dawning horror, Bucky realizes that was exactly what Pierce intended it to be, a display of power dynamic, and he slowly inches his wand towards his wand. It is futile, however, because as Rumlow struggles to his feet, Pierce turns to face Bucky with a dark smile that sends shivers down his spine. The professor snaps his fingers.  _

 

_ “ _ Obliviate- _ ” _

 

_ \- Bucky comes to in an uncomfortable chair, taking in his surroundings with a bewildered glance. He’s not in the Hospital Wing anymore and has somehow made his way to Professor Pierce’s office. _

 

_ The Professor himself is standing leaning against his desk, and as Bucky’s eyes travel over him, he smiles concernedly. “Are you alright, Mr. Barnes?” _

 

_ “Yeah, Professor.” Although he can’t place it, he’s feeling a general sense of unease about his situation and surroundings and about the professor. “Do you know how I ended up in here?” _

 

_ Pierce shakes his head. “No, Mr. Barnes.” A beat. He flicks his fingers elaborately, and they spark pale light. _

 

_ “ _ Imperio _.” _

 

* * *

 

“Could you pass me the potatoes, James darling?” 

 

“The potatoes?” James asks, blinking widely, too engrossed in slicing his chicken to shreds out of anxiety to notice what Peggy’s asked him. “Oh, the potatoes? Sorry.” He slides the dish over. “Here.”

 

“Are you alright?” Peggy asks, observing him keenly. Steve’s gaze too travels over James curiously.

 

“Yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m alright. I was just caught in my own head a bit. Was editing a particularly tricky manuscript just before this.”

 

Truly, he had been doing that, but just now, his mind had been focused on Daisy. What she might be doing? Where she is? It’s been about a week or two since he’s seen her. In between that time, he’s met with Steve twice more before being invited to dinner with Peggy. Which he is attending now.

 

“Was it the one about Hippogriffs?” Steve inquires, hand resting on Peggy’s on the dining table. His tone is good-natured and humorous. “That seems to have been bothering you the last time we met.”

 

Chuckling, James shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not it. Different one this time.” He turns to Peggy. “What’s it like being Headmistress of Hogwarts? What do you let your students get away with?”

 

“Oh,” Steve says, tone far too gleeful. “You should hear the stories she had to tell. Honestly, some of these Gryffindors sound much worse than we ever were.”

 

“Nonsense, Steven,” Peggy tells him, smiling. 

 

“Honestly, Steve,” James adds, “you really shouldn’t judge. Didn’t you fly into a goalpost in second-year?”

 

It’s phrased like a question and brimming with uncertainty, because James, in fact, truly does not remember. Brain damage will do that to you. Thankfully, neither Steve nor Peggy, caught up in the nostalgia of the moment, seem to notice.

 

“In fact,” Peggy begins, “I believe he did. Dum Dum was forced to take him to the Hospital Wing. It was Quidditch tryouts.”

 

Confirmed by Peggy, the memory begins to fill in in his mind, the unfamiliar broom that Steve had the misfortune of picking, spiraling out of control off the pitch and towards the goalposts, James and their friends watching in concern but also laughing when Steve got the broom under control. He can see it clearly now, remembering it, and relishes in the memory. 

 

“I shall maintain that it wasn’t my fault,” Steve says, sounding a bit disgruntled. Peggy chuckles before leaning over to peck him sweetly on the mouth.

 

“Of course not, darling. It was the broom’s fault,” she says, winking at James who holds back a snort of laughter.

 

While Steve scowls playfully, James returns his attention to the meal, polishing off his plate. Their conversation resumes in between bites, forks clinking against the fine porcelain of the plates, Butterbeer bottles lifted and set back down on the table. The food, chicken and potatoes and gravy, is quite tasty, and James quickly recognized it as Steve’s cooking from the first bite; with Sarah away so much in the hospital when they were kids and his own parents busy with work, he and Becca would spend a lot of time in Steve’s house, trading off cooking meals for fun, under strict supervision by the part-time house elf Sarah employed.

 

_ I see you didn’t burn the food this time around,  _ he wants to say to Steve, but he hasn’t earned the right that he lost, that Peggy has, to tease his former best friend.

 

Later, when Peggy’s arranging dessert in the kitchen, using her wand to magically clean the dishes in the sink, James abandons his conversation with Steve to wander in to grab a glass of water, turning his back to her. “You know, you don’t have to do, right? Make sure Steve’s picking up after you too.”

 

Peggy laughs amusedly, continuing on with her task. “You remain a charmer even now, Barnes. And it’s alright. I know how much Steve wishes to reconnect with you, so I’m giving him more time. Otherwise, it’d take a much stronger  _ Scourgify  _ to clean the crusted-on food when you leave.”

 

“Alright,” James response, shaking his head before sipping briefly at his water.

 

Glass in hand, he’s just about to leave the kitchen when something Peggy murmurs softly catches his attention.

 

“You don’t remember everything from your past, do you?” 

 

He freezes in his tracks, hand clenching around the glass so tightly that he’s worried he’s going to smash it. “Pardon?”

 

“I saw the relief in your face when I described Steve’s Quidditch accident,” she continues. “It was almost like you were afraid you’d dreamt the memory or misremembered it. The relief in your expression was euphoric.”

 

She’s more perceptive than he realized, and he’s more obvious than he realized.

 

James whirls around to face her, observant of her expression and mannerisms. Her eyes, though brown and clever like Daisy’s, aren’t unkind, and her features are curved in bewildered curiosity.

 

She means well, he realizes. Or at least he hopes. He can’t read people entirely well; he learned that with Daisy.

 

_ You latched onto me like a lifeline and called it love _ .

 

He shoves her words away, locking them in the deep, dark place in his brain where all his worst thoughts and shattered memories reside. “You’re right,”  he admits, words slipping from his mouth hesitantly. “The war left me with gaps in my memory. It was the brain damage. I can’t recall a lot of things correctly. It seems warped and foggy like I’m watching it underwater or through glass.” A beat. “Please don’t tell Steve. This is something I need to figure out on my own. The memory loss probably won’t heal, but I can live with it. I have been living with it. It’s just, Steve will get so preoccupied, and if I can’t reform a friendship with him based in the future rather than the past, it won’t survive.”

 

Peggy’s lips firm up in a frown; she’s clearly not enthused about possibly hiding something that could hurt her boyfriend, but she still nods. “Alright. It is your life and your choice, but I hold you to it that it won’t impact your friendship with Steve or that you will tell him yourself.”

 

“Thank you.” He meets her gaze, smiling gratefully.

 

“If I offered you the services of my friend who is a Healer, would you take them?” she asks quietly.

 

James shakes his head. “Probably not.” He watches her expression change with understanding before smoothing back out before she nods. “Thank you,” he repeats before slipping from the kitchen and returning to the living room and to his conversation with Steve.

 

* * *

 

_ James doesn’t remember the year-and-a-half where he lost control over himself and his mind or even the entire war. Afterwards, with Pierce dead and the Imperius Curse and the Memory Charm suddenly dissipating, a roaring tide of shock had washed over him as he took in his surroundings, the hallway strewn with blood, Hogwarts turned into a battleground. As far as he was aware, the last thing he’d remembered was that it was sixth-year right after his Quidditch accident and he was lying in the Hospital Wing. And now, he was here, wand clutched so tightly in his grip that he was afraid it would splinter, the incantation on his lips for a curse so Dark that it clogged up his throat like poison when he realized what it was. He had no idea what was going on, and then the exhaustion had struck him as his body crumpled to the floor.  _

 

_ When he’d woken up, he’d been returned to the Hospital Wing, bound down to his bed. A grim-faced Steve, seated by his bed, would tell him what he’d been responsible for during the last year, and James wouldn’t believe him at first. Not until the intensity with which Steve’s new redheaded Slytherin friend Natasha Romanoff would interrogate him, leaving James devastated when he would realize what he’d done. _

 

_ Eventually, some of the memories would slowly return, but James still only remembers things in fragments. _

 

* * *

 

_ “Finish them off, Soldier.” _

 

_ The Soldier glances at the man and woman before him, vomit congealed and still pooling below his dragonhide boots. The man lies doubled over on the stone floor of the cottage, face bloodied and bruised beyond belief until the only feature recognizable remained his pale eyes staring pleadingly at the Soldier. The woman is mostly unconscious, but small groans of pain still release from her swollen mouth. There is a stretch of festering green boils along her exposed arms that slowly leak a suspicious grey pus. Both their wands lay snapped besides them. _

 

_ Raising his wand, the Soldier hesitates. A shred of doubt sparks in his mind, fanning into a flame as his gaze travels from the man to the woman, both thoroughly incapacitated. “No.” It escapes from his mouth unintentionally, small, quiet, and unsure. _

 

_ “Finish the Mudbloods off, Soldier.” _

 

_ “No,” the Soldier repeats, reply louder and firm. He drops his wand. Pressure forms at the base of his skull, creeping up until it begins to compress his brain. There’s an angry voice murmuring inside his head, growing louder and louder. _

 

_ Pierce snarls, the expression a bloody gash against his features, and with a flick of his wand, the Soldier is writhing on the floor, an intense pain like he’s never felt before building in his muscles and spreading throughout his entire body. His mouth opens to scream, but at that moment, under Pierce’s doing, the muscles in his throat clench up and begin to compress until he can only pant. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt before; it feels like someone pressing red-hot pokers into his skin and against his spine, and it goes on endlessly, minutes blurring by. Out of the corner of his eye, as the pain build to an unbearable point, the Soldier sees a flash of deadly green light, then another. The pain stops, giving way to the cold but still darkness of sleep. _

 

* * *

 

_ Bucky sits at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, sandwiched between Steve and Peggy, his plate piled high with shepherd's pie, a few chicken legs, and mushy peas. He’s always hungry now. Tired too. He’s been sleeping a lot more in the past few months since his Quidditch accident. Across from him, Morita has the  _ Daily Prophet  _ wide open as he glances over the classified ads. The headline screams,  _ MUGGLEBORN WIZARD FOUND DEAD FROM TORTURE IN MUGGLE LONDON APARTMENT _. _

 

_ “It’s devastating,” Peggy says with a click of her tongue as Morita flips pages and she finally catches glimpse of the headline.  _

 

_ “What is?” Steve asks, gaze not straying from where he’s working his quill over a smooth sheet of parchment in his sketchbook to shade in the tail feathers of an owl.  _

 

_ “What keeps happening to the Muggleborn witches and wizards,” she replies. “This is the third case in several months. It looks like a trend, the same perpetrators. There was that couple up in Surrey first. The Ministry doesn’t seem to be doing anything. My mum’s friend works high up in St. Mungo’s, and she was telling use of how so many more Muggleborns have been the subject of smaller-scale attacks recently.” _

 

_ “How do you know that they aren’t just coincidences?” her cousin Sharon asks from across the table. _

 

_ By now, Steve has shut his sketchbook, listening intently to the conversation, and his expression darkens. “I wish that was the case, Shar, but in recent years, notions of blood purity and pureblood supremacy have been on the rise. These attacks have been happening more and more frequently. It doesn’t really seem to be a coincidence. These witches and wizards were specifically targeted by some sick people.” _

 

_ Besides him, Bucky listens. He agrees with Steve. He wants to voice his opinion about the increase of letters that his parents are beginning to receive from these so-called purists, but he can’t. The words turn to ash in his mouth. His neck is rigid like steel; he can’t nod his head. It’s like his body is working against his mind, against his will. So he sits still and listens, feeling helpless. _

 

* * *

 

_ The Soldier’s almost to the door of the Potions laboratory when his foot slams suddenly to the floor; he tries to lift it, but it’s firmly stuck. Swearing, he glances back to where an older man, dark hair shot through with silver, dark clever eyes, and face lined with wrinkles, teeters into the room, bracing himself again the wall. Smoke spills in from the rest of the room, the result of the Fiendfyre cast by Rumlow devouring the rest of the building. The Soldier’s only here to ensure that the mission is completed, and it won’t be long before the cursed flames start to lick at the infrastructure of this room. _

 

_ Despite the dead body of his wife lying several rooms away, already incinerated by the flame, the man is unbroken, clutching his wand solidly like it’s a lifeline. “I know that you don’t want to do this, boy,” he says, spitting out flecks of blood amongst his words, hand pressed to his shredded side where blood leaks steadily.“ I know your parents; Winifred and George Barnes wouldn’t raise their son to believe in such bullshit monstrous ideals. You’re under some kind of curse, James, and I can help you. I just need you to fight it!” _

 

_ The words pitter patter against the Soldier’s mind like a deadly rain of bullets, each one driving a jolt of pain through his muddled thoughts, but nothing is enough to break the happy fog in his brain. Still, it  _ hurts.  _ “Shut up,” he cries. “Shut up.” He doesn’t want to kill this man; he has to. He’s being ordered to.  _

 

_ With a resolute and determined flick of his wand, all his willpower and magic focused, he manages to free his foot, stumbling against the hot door from the force of the spell. He reaches to turn the partially melting handle, but the swift pale light of the man’s charm strikes it, and the Soldier jumps hastily away. _

 

_ “I’m sorry, my boy,” the man says, eyes steely, “but this is the only way the both of us live and that you won’t do something that you’ll come to regret.” His wand is held outstretched, ready to deflect any spell the Soldier fires back. _

 

_ “Only one of us will live,” the Soldier snarls back, slamming his hand desperately at the door. The handle has melted from both the flame and the spell, forming a solid bronze mass against the threshold that seals the door shut. He punches and kicks at it with all his might, but it won’t budge. As the roaring flames near him, the man slowly trudging closer, barely ahead of the fire, the Soldier lifts his wand. “ _ Confringo _ ,” he yells, the smoky air choking him, and the door blasts backwards, exploding. He stumbles forward, gasping lungfuls of fresh air still tinged with hazy heat and smoke. _

 

_ “Wait,” the man cries, inching towards the open doorway. “My boy Tony talks about you. You and your friend Rogers. He admires you. Please. Don’t let it come to this. Let me tell him that I loved him. I wasn’t ever able to tell him that enough.” _

 

_ He doesn’t want to, but the Soldier whirls around and strikes the man with another Blasting Charm, tossing him back into the crumbling, fiery room. There’s a brief, uneasy silence. Then the building  _ explodes _ , the flames lunging forward, and the Soldier swiftly slips back, Apparating away with a quiet crack. _

 

* * *

 

_ “Bucky?”  _

 

_ It’s Steve who’s come thundering through the Hogwarts hallway, wand outstretched by his side, prepared for his next opponent. Instead, he falters when his eyes fall on the Soldier and his blood-slick front, the bodies and wreckage littered at his feet.  _

 

_ “Bucky,” Steve repeats, expression aghast as he takes in the horrors. “Buck, what have you done?” _

 

_ “What I was supposed to,” slips from the Soldier’s mouth as he wonders why to reply to this new enemy. His orders are to destroy everything that comes across his path; why does he hesitate against the tall, solid blond with bright eyes that seem broken and pained.  _

 

_ “No,” Steve says, and the refusals continue to escape from him in a litany. “No no no no no.” His wand dangles uselessly. “What do you mean, what you were supposed to?” _

 

_ “My orders,” the Soldier clarifies, bright pain beginning in his mind. “I didn’t want to. I had to.” He lifts his own wand to aim at Steve’s heart. _

 

_ “This isn’t you,” Steve pleads, unflinching despite the wand trained on him. He doesn’t even lift his own to defend himself. “You’ve been cursed. That has to be it. You wouldn’t do something like this.” _

 

_ The Soldier can’t take anymore of this, the pain spreading across his mind like a thin spider web. His head feels fuzzy, feels fragile. “ _ Stupefy _ ,” he cries, hoping to stop it all.  _

 

_ Steve deflects his spell with an easy flick of his wand. “Bucky…” he says so heartbreakingly. “This isn’t you. You just said, you don’t want to do this.” _

 

_ “But I have to.” The Soldier fires back a blast of air that throws the other boy into the crumbling wall. _

 

_ Brushing off dust and stone from his shoulders, Steve gingerly picks himself up from the ground, flinching. He stands steady before the Soldier, still not even attempting to defend himself.  _

 

_ “Why won’t you fight back?” the Soldier snarls. Something about this dynamic, him against Steve, seems wrong, but he can’t put his finger on it. _

 

_ Steve begins to reply, but there are horrifying screams from further down the castle, echoing against the stone. He flinches. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he says, gritting his teeth, and finally lifts his wand. _

 

_ Suddenly, the Soldier finds himself knocked to the floor, Steve gone, footsteps thundering away from him. Bewildered, the Soldier lifts himself up and continues on his way. He has to fulfill his orders. He needs to. _

 

_ He doesn’t want to. _

 

* * *

 

“Hey, James,” Steve says when he opens the door and finds James standing in the hallway, hand poised to knock. “I was just on my way out. Did you wanna talk?”

 

James has given this a lot of thought over the last few days after Peggy’s confrontation, and he’s come to decision. There’s no delaying it. “Yeah. I was hoping for a few minutes.”

 

Steve must hear some intense gravitas in his voice, because immediately, his expression firms up, and he steps aside. “My thing can wait a little. Come inside.”

 

Once they’re both seated on the comfortable leather couch in the living room, James goes straight ahead and blurts it out, “I have brain damage.”

 

“Huh?” Steve glances at James in bewilderment, likely wondering what he is attempting to say or why he’s saying it now.

 

James squeezes his eyes shut briefly, sighing. He tries again. “Pierce’s countless Imperius Curses and Memory Charms left me with brain damage that affects my memory. I barely remember half of the shit from the war or from even before, after the accident. Even worse, there are gaps in my memory that stretch back as far as our childhood.”

 

Steve’s silent for a long,  _ long  _ minute, eyes gathering a suspicious sheen. “So your joke about my Quidditch incident?” 

 

“Was me trying to figure the memory out,” James admits, feeling a stab to the heart when Steve stiffens. 

 

“So this entire time,” the other man begins slowly, “when I kept telling you everything we’d been through was to stay in the past, you couldn’t even remember it?” There’s a terrible sadness to his tone.

 

James nods. “Not really.” The same horrible feelings of loss, sorrow, and guilt from whenever he remembers the war begins to bubble back up.

 

“Is that why you left?” Steve likely doesn’t mean for the words to sound accusatory, but that’s how they almost sound.

 

“No,” James murmurs. “I left because the guilt was eating me alive.” He speaks so quietly that he doesn’t know if Steve hears him, and there’s a brief stretch of silence where the other man doesn’t react.

 

Then Steve barrels forward, and James freezes, hand straying uncertainty towards his wand, but Steve’s only gathering him up into a solid hug, embracing him tightly almost like he’s afraid that James will dissolve away into dust. The top of his head becomes suspiciously damp, and James can hear sniffles, so he reaches his arms as best as he can to hug Steve back, because well, Steve is here, solid in his arms, and it brings back the physicality and brotherly bond that’s been missing between them in these past few weeks. Fuck, in the last decade.

 

“I love you,” Steve gasps. “I missed you so much. I don’t care if you don’t remember Brooklyn. I’m here to remind you. We’re here to make new memories.” A beat. “I want you to come to my wedding. Sam’s already my best man, but I want you by my side.”

 

The emotional force of Steve’s words hits him, and he gapes. “I love you too. I missed you beyond belief. I was a fucking idiot. I don’t deserve to be your best man anyways after what I’ve put you through, but if you want me by your side, I’ll be there.”

 

This is their true reunion, and as both men sniffle into the embrace, James makes a vow that he’ll never let Steve down again. He doesn’t want to let anyone down again, not even Daisy.


	8. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunted by the memory of James and Lincoln, Daisy reunites with her family. Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons prompt her into a sudden realization.

_ We have to face our past eventually...I think it’s time for you to face your own. _

 

That’s what James had said to her not so long ago, but in the weeks that pass, she grows embittered. She’s entirely sure that he wouldn’t have faced his past if Steve hadn’t turned up in fucking Diagon Alley. Daisy is dismissive of it every time she hears his voice echo through her head. 

 

The days after her rejection of James pass by slowly and painfully, and with each day that creeps by, she thinks that she’ll come to regret her words, as harsh but realistic as they were. But she doesn’t. She can’t fall in love. Not again. Not after Lincoln.

 

_ Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln _ . It’s the litany she repeats to herself every time she wakes up and rolls over in bed and finds the spot besides her empty, unoccupied by James.  _ Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln _ . It’s all because of how she ruined him. And how she’s afraid of ruining James.

 

He, like Lincoln, had snuck past her walls and lowered her defenses. Every time she finds a particularly witty quip on her tongue but he’s not by her side to share it, a surprising jolt of hurt runs through her. Thoughts of James are tinged with silverish melancholy. 

 

She tries not to think too much into it and instead throws herself into her routine, piling on the Gringotts assignments. She considers taking another trip overseas. The more she thinks about that, the more it appeals, to the point where she almost has her bags immediately packed when in his next letter, her colleague Robbie mentions a newly-uncovered grimoire in New Orleans that turns anyone who touches it nearly permanently invisible. It’s an almost month-long investigation that will require the Curse-breaker to be momentarily relocated.

 

Daisy is about to send in her request to be placed on that case, Apparating to a nearby Wizarding neighborhood to borrow any owl, when by chance, she passes by a stand containing day-old newspapers and magazines. Randomly, she picks up a  _ Daily Prophet  _ and hands the aging wizard manning the stand a few Knuts. She tucks it under her arm as she strolls into the post office. 

 

“I’d like to borrow an owl,” she tells the witch at the front desk. “To send a letter.”

 

The witch nods. “It’ll be a few minutes. The owls are currently being fed.”

 

“That’s fine.” Daisy takes a seat in the little waiting area, watching the other witches and wizards step forward to the desk and be served. A few minutes later, out of sheer boredom from the people-watching, she lifts up the newspaper and snaps it open, gaze jumping straight to the International News column. She scans through the Games section and some classified ads until she finally flips to the announcements and sees it.

 

Hidden towards the end of the page is a small picture of an older couple, a tall, intimidating Asian woman whose age is only marked by the slight wrinkles beneath her eyes and a congenial-looking man in a suit with well-worn laugh lines and considerably less hair than when Daisy last saw him a decade ago. The man is smiling, dressed in formal dress robes, and throwing an arm around the woman while her expression is straight, though only someone who knew her well would be able to interpret the slight turn of her lips and they twitch upwards. The announcement next to them reads,  _ After two decades of friendship and five of courtship, former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Head of Gryffindor House Phillip J. Coulson (born to Robert and Julie Coulson in Manitowoc, Wisconsin) and former Professor of Charms Melinda Qiaolian May (born to William and Lian May, famed American Aurors, and widow of prominent American Healer Andrew Garner) were wed this Saturday in a private ceremony. They were joined by a few of both professors’ students, including husband-wife potioneers Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons, professional Quidditch player Elena “Yo-Yo” Rodriguez, and others. Both Mr. Coulson and Mrs. May appreciate any congratulates but encourage anyone to donate to their organization SHIELD. SHIELD, originally founded by Mr. Coulson as a dueling club in Hogwarts, now serves as both a security firm run by Mr. Coulson and Mrs. May and a summer training program for underaged witches and wizards. Many hearty congratulations to the happy couple. _

 

“Your owl is ready, Miss,” the witch says as she calls over to Daisy.

 

Daisy’s gaze breaks from the page. “Um…” She glances at the letter stuffed in her pocket and then to the newspaper she clutches so tightly in her sweaty hands that the page has crumpled. “You know what?” She stands. “Thank you, but never mind. I don’t need the owl anymore.”

 

“Alright.” The witch shrugs and returns to helping the next witch or wizard in the queue.

 

Knees wobbling, Daisy slowly drags herself from the post office, shaky hand reaching for the letter. She lifts it up into the air and taps it with a single finger. Dramatically, the letter begins to smoulder, smoke rising from it, as the parchment darkens from the flame and begins to shrivel, turning to ash. Slowly, the letter burns, the remains falling to the cobblestones as soot. 

 

When her hand is empty, she brushes herself off, straightening up. Then boots thudding against the ground, she twists and Apparates away, stumbling into her apartment with a silenced crack.

 

_ We have to face our past eventually...I think it’s time for you to face your own. _

 

She hears James’ voice again floating through her head, and she nearly snarls. It seems that one more demon has begun to haunt her, though now, she’s not sure if she wants him to be a ghost. She thinks she might even want him, solid, in the flesh, by her side, living, breathing, and laughing. 

 

Alive and laughing is better than a ghost anyways. That’s what Lincoln has remained to her.

 

Besides, she thinks he might be right. It might be time for her to face her past.

 

* * *

 

_ The battle rages on behind them, screams echoing down the hallway and flashes of spellfire volleying around, and Daisy ducks low and forges on, half a step behind Ward at all times. She doesn’t know why they’re heading in the opposite direction, away from the main battle in the hallways and towards the Great Hall, or why she’s even following him. She should be back with Coulson and SHIELD in the hallways, leading raids on their enemy forces. Instead, the happy fog that keeps her mind unmuddled of thoughts and blissfully clear urges her to obediently follow Ward. _

 

_ “Grant,” a bruised and sweaty boy that Daisy vaguely recognizes as one of Ward’s Slytherin friends calls, panting as he ducks the corner and into brief safety, “where are you going? Why is Johnson with you?” _

 

_ Without halting their rapid march down the hallway, Ward turns his head and calls back, “Pierce needs us in the Great Hall. Garrett spread the announcement. And Johnson’s with us.” _

 

_ The boy’s eyes widen in understanding, and he opens his mouth to reply, but just as he does, a Blasting Curse strikes the wall he’s resting against, and he’s thrown to the floor from the force of the explosion, rubble flying as far as where Daisy and Ward have reached. As the dust clears, two figures emerge from the collapsed corridor. Fitz and Piper. _

 

_ “Daisy, Ward, what are you doing? The battle’s this way,” Fitz yells in bewilderment, pointing towards the corridor. “Coulson’s been looking for you. We need all the reinforcements we can get. We don’t really know what’s going on yet.” Behind him, Piper watches Ward critically over his shoulder. _

 

_ “I don’t think you got it yet, Fitzy,” Ward replies, lips warping into a wolfish smirk. “The battle’s here. We’re fighting for our right to exist as witches and wizards. We can’t have that with filthy Mudbloods and Muggles coming into our society and diluting our magic and blood. We’ll cease to exist.” _

 

_ Daisy can pinpoint the exact heartbreaking moment comprehension dawns on Fitz. He’s always looked up to Ward as a friend and ally; now, he sees the Slytherin’s true nature.  _

 

_ “You can’t honestly believe that bullshit,” Piper yells, eyes narrow. “What about you, Johnson? You would never stand for this shit. Why aren’t you saying anything?” _

 

_ Ward laughs cruelly. “Daisy doesn’t exactly have a choice. Why don’t you show them?” _

 

_ Immediately, Fitz and Piper raise their wands, but they are just moments too late, because Daisy is already in action. She’s spent months refining and tweaking her spell, ever since she first tried it in Coulson’s classroom last year in front of SHIELD, and as she lunges to the ground, palm slamming against the stone, she watches her friends’ eyes widen in anticipation and uncertainty.  She thinks that she can almost feel the deep, ancient reserve of magic in the earth, below the castle, older than the modern-day world, and imagines herself tapping into it, using it as a conduit for her own magic, to increase the force behind her spell.  _

 

_ Her spell lasts only a few brief moments, its damage extensive, but she watches it all in slow motion. The opaque, nearly invisible waves of vibration that emit when her hand makes contact with the stone. The minute trembling that begins underneath their feet and escalates to larger and larger waves until the ground is visibly wobbling. The slight fracturing that begins to spread across the stone walls like a spiderweb until the cracks deepen. The force that throws Piper and Fitz into the opposing wall. The explosion of rubble as the corridor begins to collapse in itself. The broken stones that plunge down. The cloud of  dust that begins to rain down. The sudden eerie silence in the aftermath of the spell. _

 

_ Daisy rises to her feet, dusting off her hands, and turns back to glance at Ward. He stares at her, stunned, before his expression finally resolves into a dirty smirk. “Damn, Johnson,” he says. “Who knew you were such a force of nature? I’m almost considering myself lucky that you stumbled upon me and von Strucker in that corridor.” _

_ If it weren’t for the happy fog draped over her like a restrictive but thick blanket, she would bristle at Ward’s words, wondering how she’d ever considered him a friend. Or even had a crush on him. _

 

_ “Let’s go,” he says, lifting his wand and firing one last spell towards the collapsed corridor. A smoky cloud of grey drifts from his wand and coats the wreckage in some kind of sticky-looking tar. “That should deter any others from following us.” He swipes a hand over his face before continuing back down the hallway at a rapid pace. _

 

_ Despite the increasing urge to follow, Daisy lingers for just a moment, fighting that blissful haze to think clearly. She can see Piper’s collapsed figure, nearly dwarfed by the rubble. And Fitz, poor Fitz, is pinned down, only his bruised and scratched face visible. _

 

_ Then she turns and follows Ward into the depths of the castle. _

 

* * *

 

It’s a pretty cottage in Perthshire, with whitish-grey stone and a thatched roof likely spelled to be waterproof. There’s an attached garden with beautiful flowers of both Muggle and Wizarding varieties alike and a small reflecting pool. The rest of the property is enveloped by rolling, picturesque green hills. It’s all very scenic and peaceful, and Daisy can imagine that in a few years, there’ll be two little toddlers running through the front yard, both light-haired but with either blue or brown eyes, and kid-sized broomsticks lying about, because no matter what their parents will insist about not flying, these toddlers will have a crowd of an extended family, including a professional Quidditch player for an aunt.

 

Daisy swallows down the lump in her throat and steps forward, past the short gate that borders the cottage and down the little cobblestone walkway. Being the established Curse-breaker that she is, she manages to temporarily disable the numerous, complex protection charms and wards on her way to the front door. The casters might be clever and highly intelligent, but she has a decade of professional experience, and she’s familiar with their magic.

 

She approaches the front door slowly, and when she reaches there, she stands before it, hand raised to knock. She hesitates. It would be all too easy to turn around right now, walk down that cobblestone path, and return to her lonely apartment in Muggle London, empty of James and with only a bottle of firewhisky for company. Ten years of separation can stand one day longer. Still, despite its urgent niggling at her mind, that thought is quickly overpowered by a wave of sorrow and loneliness that washes over her. Her fist raps solidly against the wooden door three times, and she steps back. After a brief few moments of silence, there’s the sound of rapid footsteps from inside, and then the door opens.

 

In Daisy’s mind’s eye, Leo Fitz is a tall, gangly seventeen-year-old boy with dirty blond curly hair and twinkling blue eyes, frequently gesticulating with his hands, fiddling with his wand, or babbling about monkeys. He is not the one who opens the door. No, it’s an older Leo Fitz, just two years shy of thirty, who has grown into his gangly limbs more than Daisy ever thought he would. His hair, shorter and tamer, has taken on a more brownish shade. For a moment, Daisy’s mind, as it did every day for a year after the war, until she ran, superimposes the image of him lying bloodied and bruised in the collapsed corridor. Then she blinks, and his face is clear and clean again aside for the faint scars left by the Dark magic from Ward’s spell. It is he who takes a step back in surprise, eyes widening and scruff-covered jaw dropping. “Daisy? Is that really you?”

 

“Surprise,” Daisy responds with a weak smile.

 

“What? How?” Fitz stutters, fingers tapping against the dark wood of his wand. 

 

_ He doesn’t really want to know that _ , she muses. Technically, the method with which she found Fitz and Simmons was semi-illegal, and she owed Robbie and her goblin superiors a lot of overtime for convincing them to access the Gringotts’ bank records.

 

“It’s a long story,” she says awkwardly, fidgeting with her own wand. She taps her foot against the cobblestone. A long moment of silence passes. “May I come inside?”

 

For a horrible moment, she’s afraid that Fitz will say no and slam the door in her face, but he only stands there, muscles in his jaw working. His eyes are focused and contemplative. Then he shrugs. “Come in, Daisy.” He steps aside and pulls the door open to allow Daisy to come inside.

 

Fitz fiddles with his fingers, not meeting her gaze, one last time before smiling awkwardly at her and beginning to lead her down a short hallway. The walls are painted a pale yellow and decorated with pictures of both the Muggle and Wizarding variety. They feature an older Coulson and May, looking exactly as they did in the  _ Daily Prophet  _ announcement, a smiling Fitz and Simmons, Mack, who looks ageless besides being taller and more muscular, and Yo-Yo, with more developed facial features and her gleaming prosthetics. The most recent addition to the framed pictures features all of Daisy’s forementioned friends smiling at what appears to be Coulson and May’s wedding, and as Daisy realizes this, another stab of sorrow runs through her heart.

 

They finally emerge in a rather lovely sitting room with plush-looking couches and a sleek coffee table with bookshelves crammed to the brim with books, most of them old with worn spines. There are shiny awards lining the wall, either dedicated to Fitz, Simmons, or both of them, and everything is done in rose and pale green color scheme, though the design and layout, Daisy realizes, vaguely resembles the Ravenclaw Common Room. 

 

After a moment of awkward silence and standing, Fitz blurts out, “We should sit down.”

 

Gratefully, Daisy nods and takes a seat opposite him just as a familiar voice echoes from somewhere else in the house, “Fitz, who was at the door?” A beat. “Fitz?” Then Jemma Simmons herself drifts into the room and drops the mug she was sipping from, ceramic pieces scattering everywhere and tea spilling onto the hardwood. “ _ Daisy _ ?”

 

Before either Daisy or Fitz can react, Simmons has Vanished the mess away. She, unlike Fitz, looks almost exactly like the seventeen year-old Jemma that Daisy knew from Hogwarts. Of course, there are slight differences. Her facial features are more developed, and she’s wearing the slightest bit of makeup, something teenaged Simmons had abhored. Her hair is a shade lighter and thick, cut at her shoulders. 

 

“Hey, Jemma,” Daisy says, smiling nervously at the bewildered Simmons. “How are you?”

 

A flurry of emotions runs across Simmons’ face, surprise, happiness, rage, but finally, she presses her lips together thinly, taking a seat besides Fitz. “What do you want?” Her tone is tired and worn.

 

So it’s not exactly the warm welcome that Daisy was hoping for, but she didn’t expect there to be one. Instead, she allows her smile to dim and leans forward, fidgeting with her fingers. “I’m here to make amends,” she tells Fitz and Simmons genuinely. “I’m sorry.”

 

Simmons’ eyes narrow, but Fitz still looks bewildered. “For what?”

 

“For everything,” Daisy says, only the slightest note of bitterness to her words. She lets everything spill from her mouth, every terrible, shameful, guilty thought she’s ever had.“For my role in the war. For hurting you, Fitz.” She makes direct contact with him when she utters her apology, trying not to flinch. “And for hurting Piper. For killing Ward.” A beat. “Well, I’m probably not sorry for that.” A beat. “For killing Lincoln.” Here, she chokes up but powers through, determined, “For betraying your trust. For leaving you, abandoning you. And most importantly, just for missing everything. Birthdays and anniversaries. Your wedding. Mack and Yo-Yo finally getting together. Coulson and May’s wedding.” She shrugs. “Just that.” Her eyes burn and prickle from the unshed tears.

 

When she finally musters the courage to glance back up, she finds that Simmons’ expression has softened, considerably so, and Fitz is biting his lip. At some point during her apology, they have linked hands, and Fitz strokes his thumb gently against the inside of Simmons’ wrist.

 

“Daisy,” Fitz begins gently, as one would talk to a wounded or scared animal. “We don’t blame you for anything. Especially me. None of that was your fault. I want you to understand that.”

 

“But you were mad at me,” Daisy says in a small voice, sounding like she had when the Brodys had told her that they couldn’t adopt her when she was eight because of the weird stuff that happened around her, the plates floating, the dog turning blue, the keys disappearing and reappearing across a room. She feels the same, tentative, hopeful, naive. 

 

“Because you left,” Simmons replies, and Daisy can hear the battle in her voice as she struggles to keep her darker emotions from leaking into her tone. “We were kids. We had all gone through battle, suffered, change, seen and experienced a lot of things that kids aren’t supposed to. You got the worst brunt of it. But we tried to help you heal. We stood by your side. Coulson found you that Healer. She wasn’t even accepting any more clients, but Coulson convinced her to take you on because he was worried about you.  _ We  _ were worried about you.” A beat. “You attended six months and then just stopped going. It was getting too much. We tried so hard, but you were unreceptive.” Her words are becoming explosive now. “You didn’t talk to any of us. But one day, you just packed up and left. Just like that. Without wondering how we’d react or cope. Without realizing how much we all loved you and how much we were trying to help.”

 

She breathes in deeply, her chest heaving, almost like a great weight’s been lifted off her shoulders, and when Daisy makes to interrupt, Simmons moves quickly on, her hand clutched supportively by Fitz. “That being said, it’s like what Fitz said. Nothing was your fault. Ward had you under the Imperius Curse. It was almost impossible for you to resist his control, statistically impossible actually. There’s a really fascinating study performed by the Ministry in a controlled setting about the percentage of witches and wizards who manage to resist the spell.” She begins to go on a tangent about this study but is nudged by Fitz who gestures towards the bewildered Daisy. Simmons quickly recomposes herself. “Ward was controlling you. It’s not like you wanted to do any of what he made you. We can’t blame you for that. It’s not your fault.”

 

_ I know _ , she thinks as she glances down, tracing the pattern of the carpet with the tip of her boot,  _ but I did it anyway.  _ It sounds like something James would say, but he’s not here. Courage mustered, she straightens, and when she speaks, her voice is strong with conviction. “I have blood on my hands,” she says. “It was my wand, my spells. I took innocent lives. That  _ is  _ on me.”

 

“Ward probably deserved it,” Fitz blurts out, and Simmons glares at him, but Daisy turns to stare at him. Fitz was there in the hallway; he heard how Ward had ordered her, set her on her friends like a guard dog. Maybe Fitz and Simmons are right that she didn’t want to hurt anyone or that it was because of Ward, but that doesn’t exonerate her. She still hurt people.

 

“Fitz is right, Daisy,” Simmons says contemplatively after a brief moment. “Ward did deserve it. That blood isn’t on your hands; it’s on his. He was the worst kind of monster. He spent years being part of SHIELD, becoming close to us, only to stab us in the back. He’s responsible for the mess that we became after the war.”

 

Oh, how Daisy  _ wished  _ she could believe that, but she can’t. And there’s one reason, one person, why. “What about Lincoln?” she asks, voice cracking with a wild desperation. The prickling tears return tenfold, and they finally slip free, beginning to flow down her cheeks in damp tracks. She chokes on the emotion in her voice. “Ward only told me to hold them off, to take care of anyone who got in his or Hydra’s way.  _ I  _ was the one who interpreted that in a way that killed Lincoln.”

 

“Oh,  _ Daisy _ ,” Simmons says, voice all soft and eyes bright with her own tears. “You aren’t responsible for Lincoln at all.”

 

* * *

 

_ It’s nearing dawn of the next day, and the battle is still ongoing. Daisy’s body is sluggish and near numb with sheer exhaustion, but the happy fog in her brain urges her on to keep fighting, to follow Ward, to fulfill his orders. _

 

_ They received news of Headmaster Phillips’ death hours ago, just as the actual battle was beginning. Daisy had barely even comprehend the situation with a blink because of her muddled thoughts, but Ward had cracked a gleeful smile. “That foolish old man got what was coming,” he’d said victoriously, but that had been so, so many hours ago than Daisy could even count. Now, it seems that the tide is slowly turning. Minister Fury and his forces have surrounded the castle, and it seems that there might be something major occurring in the Great Hall, but Daisy and Ward are far away from all of that, having taken shelter in the Astronomy Tower under Garrett’s instructions, guarding the Portkeys. If everything goes south, then Garrett, Zola, Pierce, and the others won’t be able to Apparate out; the castle’s wards would prevent that. The Portkeys are the only option, and Daisy’s been set on protecting them like a guard dog. So far, she’s only had to blast a few students away from the Tower, but Ward’s proving to be excessively paranoid. _

 

_ For good reason, they learn soon when several wizards rush up the stairs. Daisy recognizes a few as current Slytherins or recent graduates. They’re led by a smarmy-faced git named Sunil Bakshi. “Give us those Portkeys, Ward,” he demands.  _

 

_ Ward’s devious eyes widen a fraction in surprise, but he holds his stance at the top of the stairs, Daisy behind him and blocking the entrance of the Tower. “No,” he replies, words edged with steel. “I’m under Garrett’s strict order. No one is to get near them besides Pierce, Garrett, or Zola.” _

 

_ Bakshi laughs coldly as his little faction draws their wands. “Haven’t you heard, Grant? Garrett is dead. By your Coulson’s hand. It seems that all those years you spent with that little club SHIELD was for naught. The battle’s a bloody mess. Pierce is losing. Now, step aside, and let us at the Portkeys.” _

 

_ Ward draws his own wand. “I’m afraid I cannot let you do that.” _

 

_ A Slytherin sneers. “You and that girl are going to stop us?” _

 

_ Shaking his head, Ward smirks. “No, but she is.” _

 

_ Just as Daisy steps forward, there is commotion from the foot of the stairs, and the air takes on a singed smell as the Slytherin is knocked away by what appears to be a bolt of blue electricity or fire. Quickly, before the others can react, Daisy and Ward take a few more out with several consecutive Stunning Spells. Then only Bakshi remains, sandwiched between them and the approaching witch or wizard, but Daisy incapiates him with a quick and silent “ _ Petrificus Totalus. _ ” _

 

_ The figure finally emerges at the top of the stairs, roaring. “Ward!” he cries. It’s Lincoln, blond hair ruffled and eyes blazing, wand tucked away because he doesn’t need it to perform the blue electricity that Coulson’s come to call his signature spell, and as Daisy would later come to comprehend, this would be the worst moment of her life. _

 

_ “If it isn’t Lincoln Campbell,” Ward taunts with a wicked smile, having recovered from Bakshi’s ambush fairly quickly. “I see that it took you several hours. Are you here for your girlfriend?” _

 

_ Lincoln’s eyes find Daisy standing mutely by Ward’s side several feet away. “You don’t have to do any of this, Daisy,” he pleads. “This isn’t you.” _

 

_ “Funny thing about the Imperius,” Ward says, laughing. “She doesn’t really have a choice. Take care of him, Daisy.” _

 

_ As ordered, Daisy strikes first, cold and effective with a nonverbal  _ “Confringo”  _ that Lincoln manages to duck while also casting a Shield Charm that forms an opaque barrier before him. Daisy’s spell blasts the wall of the Astronomy Tower behind him into rubble, sending up a cloud of dust. Meanwhile, Ward takes up a defensive position near the Portkeys, watching Daisy and Lincoln with an expression that’s almost amused. _

 

_ “Daisy,” Lincoln yells, diving to avoid another Exploding Charm. “Snap out of it. He has you under his control.” After the third stone column explodes in his face, Lincoln seems to understand the futility of his words and actually begins to defend himself. “ _ Stupefy. _ ” _

 

_ His spell is easily deflected with a flick of Daisy’s wand, and it bounces back towards him, striking the stone behind him and fizzling out. She directs a curse towards his legs, but it explodes against his barrier. Then she follows up, training her wand on the ground below Lincoln’s feet. “ _ Deprimo _.”  _

 

_ Her spell blasts the stone into a hole, but the castle’s ancient wards prevent her charm from making major damage; Lincoln’s foot slips into the dent, but he’s deft on his feet, firing back a nonverbal spell with a flash of scarlet light. _

 

_ Daisy’s wand flies from her hand with a jerk, caught successfully by Lincoln, and she snarls animalistically, swiping a lock of dark hair from her face. Ward is watching on carefully, wand clutched with a white-knuckled grip, almost as if he’s about to slip in and interfere when Daisy looks like she’s at a disadvantage. Which she isn’t right now, which she proves by blasting Lincoln backwards into the wall with a causal wave of her hand, Summoning her wand towards her. _

 

_ He picks himself up gingerly, dusting his clothes off, but before he can make a move for his wand lying inches away, it’s already in Daisy’s hand.  _

 

_ “Finish it,” Ward snarls. “This is taking way too long, Johnson.” _

 

_ His words echo through Daisy’s foggy mind, the only thing that cuts through.  _

 

_ “Don’t listen to him, Daisy,” Lincoln cries, eyes fixed desperately on her, hands spread helplessly wide.“Fight him. I believe you can. I love you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. You’re beautiful, strong, witty, brave. I love you. Fight it!”  _

 

_ A terrible pressure begins building at the base of her skull, radiating through her mind, and she snarls again in pain, unable to ignore it. The sensation disrupts the happy fog in her mind. She can’t deal with this. Not right now. She has orders. “Shut up,” she cries, “ _ Shut up! _ ” She kneels down, fist striking the ground. Tremors gently rock the ground, originating from her point of contact with the stone. Daisy’s knee nearly buckles from the increasing waves of vibrations, and she nearly blacks out from the intensity that it takes to focus on the spell, channeling her power into it. Although her gaze blurs over with tears from her exertion, she can make out a figure stumbling along the side of the Tower. Then the figure disappears as a cloud of dust blooms up in the air from the rubble Daisy’s creating. She distantly hears what sounds like a desperate yell.  _

 

_ When the spell is over, Daisy falls forward on her hands and knees, panting with exhaustion. As the fog clears from her mind, she realizes that her thoughts are no longer muddled, and she quickly realizes why as her gaze darts arounds the Tower, finally landing on Ward crumpled lifelessly in the corner, rubble surrounding him, blood and brains spewed out around him.  _

 

_ A brief moment later, with dawning horror, Daisy also realizes that Lincoln is no longer in the Tower. His wand lays uselessly besides her, and her eyes linger on it for a moment before they slowly travel to the large Astronomy Tower window closest to where he was standing. Time moves sluggishly as she stumbles to her feet and rushes to the window, hands tracing over where the iron barrier is bent inward. It gives way beneath her grip, swinging out into the empty dark night like a gate.  _

 

_ She finally musters the courage to peer over the edge of the window, and a horrible scream is ripped from her throat, a sound she never believed herself capable of making. Her hand clamps down over her mouth. The sight that meets her is one she will never forget in her life. _

 

_ Lincoln lies like a lifeless doll, neck and limbs twisted at an unnatural angle. He’s illuminated by the faint dawn light as the sun rises slowly from the horizon. There are faint specks of blood splattered across the emerald grass of the Great Lawn, and Daisy cannot correlate the electric boy that she fell in love with lying there loose and robbed of life.  _

 

_ She gasps in choking sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks, hyperventilating into her hand. She crumples down onto her knees, hair falling around her face in a thick curtain. When the next Hydra agents find her, stumbling desperately for an escape, she will weaponize her grief into something that will make her far more effective than she was under Ward’s control. But for now, she can only sob. _

 

* * *

 

Daisy is full-on sobbing now, her vision blurry from her tears. “But I killed him anyways,” she chokes out in between heaving breath. “Even if the intent wasn’t there, I might as well have pushed him off the Tower.” She gasps, the sound strangled and wheezy from her sobs. “I loved him, and if I hadn’t loved him, he wouldn’t have tried to interfere.”

 

“Oh, Daisy,” Simmons repeats, gazing so softly upon Daisy that she feels that she’s right back in Hogwarts after the war, numb and eyes not straying from the white sheet covering Lincoln’s body while Simmons clutches her and cries with concern for the comatose Fitz. “That’s not true.”

 

“How do you know that?” Daisy snaps at her, roughly wiping away her still flowing tears with the sleeve of her shirt. Simmons flinches and straightens up, Fitz placing a comforting arm around her, both their faces aghast. Clearly, this conversation isn’t only taking a toll on her, and she’s flooded with guilt. Her friends are trying to help her; they really shouldn’t be after what she did to them, but they’re trying still. “I’m so sorry.” A beat. “I didn’t mean that.” She hopes that her expression reads as apologetic despite her red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks.

 

“Daisy,” Fitz begins, quiet but firm and sober, “Lincoln was our friend too. We were in SHIELD together for years; we all loved him. We all grieved him too.”

 

“I know,” she chokes out, still attempting to swipe the tears away. Her sleeve is damp enough that she could wring water out of it into a bucket. She wishes she had James’ calming spell to Vanish the bubbling anxiety inside her. No, she wishes she had James, period. “I’m sorry.” She pulls out her wand to siphon the dampness away, leaving her sleeve dry, and doesn’t meet her friends’ gazes. “It was selfish for me to leave. It was selfish for me to think that Lincoln was mine to grieve alone.” 

 

“Thank you,” Simmons says. She rises to her feet, and then there’s the brief sound of muffled footsteps across the carpet until the couch seat besides Daisy dips as Simmons sits. “Daisy.” Her voice is gentle. “Please look at me.”

 

Daisy refuses to. “I’m sorry. I ruined everything.”

 

“Daisy,” Fitz says as he takes a seat on the other side of her. “You ruined nothing.” As if he senses that she was about to interrupt, he rushes on, “You may have unintentionally ruined our friendship, but you’re back here to make amends.”

 

“I was mad,” Simmons adds, “but now I can see that you leaving hurt you just as much as it did us. That means the world to us. It won’t make up for ten years of radio silence, but it’s a start.”

 

“You ruined nothing,” Fitz repeats.

 

“But Lincoln…” Daisy protests quietly, heart lodged in her throat. “I killed-”

 

“I killed him just as much as you did,” Simmons says sternly, cutting her off, and besides her, Daisy stiffens.

 

_ What could Simmons mean by that _ ?

 

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Fitz,” she snaps at her husband who was glancing at her reproachfully. She lowers her voice to be hushed, but Daisy still hears her. “We both remember the nights I was in Daisy’s place.” She raises her voice and turns back to Daisy. “I was fighting alongside Lincoln on the other side of the castle. I received word from one of the other students that Ward had been seen up near the Astronomy Tower.” A beat. “I could have kept that information to myself, but I told Lincoln. I was the reason he came to the Tower.”

 

That information strikes Daisy like a blow to the chest, and grief wells back up in her again as her eyes prickle. “I was right,” she tells Fitz and Simmons, gasping. “He wouldn’t even have been there if I hadn’t been following Ward.”

 

“Listen to me, Daisy.” There’s enough iron in Fitz’s voice that she’s compelled to glance at him. “Lincoln wasn’t a Gryffindor, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have courage or bravery. He was also one of us, a Ravenclaw. If Ward was far away in the Tower, separate from the rest of the battle, it would be for something that Pierce and Hydra had deemed imperative. Ward was very good at following orders, and Lincoln knew that. He used that knowledge to his advantage, and it’s partly why he came to the Tower besides the fact that you were there. If you hadn’t been there or he didn’t love you, he would have gone anyways. Because it was the right thing to do, the logical thing, the good thing, and Lincoln was a good person.” A beat. “When Lincoln came to the Tower, he made a choice. He would have wanted you to respect his choice.”

 

“I know,” Daisy whispers, sniffling. “I think I realized a few years ago and wanted to forget it, because if I gave Lincoln the dignity of his choice, then the years I spent away from you guys and the rest of our family would have been for naught. I would have hated myself even more.”

 

“Are you alright, Daisy?” Simmons asks in concern, inching closer to her. 

 

Daisy nods. It feels like a great weight has been lifted off her shoulders and chest, and she can breathe freely again. She doesn’t want to say that she feels free of Lincoln, but it was almost like he was rooting her down, keeping her in the present and past. Maybe he will no longer remain in her present as a ghost, as one of her demons, but she will always have her memories of him. “I will be,” she says and reaches to link her hands with Fitz and Simmons. “I’m sorry for the time we lost, but I hope that I can make up for it.”

 

Simmons smiles softly. “There’s plenty of time for that,” she says almost shyly, and Fitz beams. “There will be a new addition to the family in a few months.”

 

Glancing down to where Simmons’ other hand slips to cover her stomach gently, Daisy hesitates briefly in uncertainty. Then her brain finally makes the connection, and she squeals. “Merlin! I’m so happy for you!” It seems that her musings earlier about a toddler version of her friends was almost predictive. “A little Fitz,” she says excitedly.

 

“Or a little Jemma,” Fitz chimes in, smiling just as brightly as he did the day the Sorting Hat slipped past his ears and declared him a “ _ Ravenclaw! _ ” 

 

They all fall into each other, embracing on the couch, laughing, and crying, trying to make up for the years of lost time and memories. It’s a moment that Daisy never wants to end, but eventually, Simmons slips free to go make tea while Fitz and Daisy glance over a photo album of Fitz and Simmons’ wedding. Later, as they sit in the living room, sipping the tea Simmons brewed, Fitz asks, “Genuinely, Daisy, will you be okay?”

 

“I think so,” she replies softly, thinking over her future. Maybe, there was  _ something _ between her and James, love even. Maybe, he really did love her. She was wrong to dismiss him, push him away, but it’s too late. 

 

She must have lapsed into silence, because Simmons nudges her. “You alright there, Johnson?” 

 

“Yeah,” Daisy says, laughing. “I pushed someone away who I had a chance with. I just hope he can forgive me. I hope I still have that chance.”

 

Simmons nods contemplatively before asking, “Why did you come to us?” A beat. “I don’t mean that disrespectfully, but I just wonder. Why didn’t you go to Mack and Yo-Yo or even Coulson and May?”

 

Daisy smiles nervously. “Because. You and Fitz were my first friends at Hogwarts. You will always be tied to my memories of the Wizarding World. I needed to fix that.” A beat. “Besides, I’m not ready to see Coulson and May. And I don’t think Yo-Yo will ever forgive me. She really knows how to hold a grudge.”

 

They all crack smiles at that. “Hey,” Fitz says supportively. “She will. She just needs time. We all just need a little time.”

 

She nods at that. She hopes he’s right; she hopes that people can forgive her. She hopes James can forgive her. After all, she thinks she loves him.


	9. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One beautiful afternoon, James attends the Carter-Rogers wedding and has an emotional realization about Daisy.

The day of the Carter-Rogers wedding arrives with not a single cloud in the sky, and James is immensely relieved. Sure, as witches and wizards, they could have whooshed out some kind of translucent tent to cover the venue or keep cast some kind waterproof spells, but it seems like fortune - and the sun - smiles down brightly on the two Gryffindor lovers. By the time James arrives, a hour prior to when the ceremony is to begin, preparation is nearly complete.

 

Almost entirely comfortable with magic and his wand again - and he doesn’t try to think of the fact that most of it was owed to Daisy, he rushes forward to help an elderly witch help afix the flowers to the gazebo where the ceremony will be held. The flowers are charmed to glimmer and glow with faint golden light every few moments with just the right amount of subtlety that James would expect out of Peggy’s elegant tastes and Steve’s artistic eye. The venue is similarly perfect for the small, intimate circle of guests, a modest-sized garden with the white marble-carved gazebo and a dazzling array of colorful flowers of both Muggle and Wizarding origin. A babbling brook cuts through the grass where the chairs, white with a gold sash, are arranged, forming an arch behind the gazebo that another witch is fixing with last-minute charms. 

 

It’s all a very breathtaking scene, and James is about to retire to the floating tabletops set to the side where guests are enjoying hor d'oeuvres as they arrive when someone calls, “Barnes.” 

 

He glances over, bewildered to find Sam Wilson approaching him, looking incredibly dashing in his navy Auror dress robes. “Yeah?” he asks when Wilson is only a few feet.

 

“Steve wants to see you.”

 

He tries not to let his surprise show on his face, wondering why Steve would want to see him an hour before he gets married. “Thanks, Wilson,” he says quickly. He sets off towards the gazebo when he realizes that he has no idea where he’s going and grinds to a halt. “Sorry, where?”

 

Sam, who was watching him in amusement, only shakes his head. “Follow me.” He leads James a little way down to a corner of the garden and ducks past a short cobblestone path James hadn’t noticed before. They arrive before a small brick building with a wooden door that swishes open after Sam knocks once. They walk down a short hallway before Sam knocks on another wooden door that once again opens by itself. “Rogers,” he says, poking his head inside. “I got your boy.”

 

“You make it sound like this is the eighteenth century, and you just fetched my manservant,” Steve remarks. His tone is dry and snarky, but James can hear the tinge of nerves beneath the sarcasm. “Thanks, Sam.”

 

Sam’s tone softens. “You’re welcome, Rogers.” A beat. “Besides, what is a best man for?”

James tries to squash down the jolt of jealousy he feels at Sam’s joke. It’s just a joke, and Sam’s the one who’s best man, no matter how much James feels that the role should have been his.  _ You left _ , he reminds himself for the millionth time since he’s reunited with Steve.  _ You left. Sam’s his best friend now. You’re his old friend _ ... _ At least, you’re still his friend. You should be grateful for that _ .

 

“Anyways,” Sam continues, unaware of the temporary tirade raging in James’ head. “I’ll get going. See you out there, Rogers.” He steps aside and nods to James before moving to slip past him in the hallway.

 

“It’s my wedding,” Steve calls from inside the room, “not a Quidditch game.” 

 

If Sam hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge, beginning to whistle as he slips out the wooden door at the front.

  
James accidentally scruffs his foot against the carpet as he enters the room, making a loud noise and feeling incredibly awkward. Then he catches a glimpse of Steve. Steve, bright-eyed and widely smiling. Steve, hair carefully combed back and stylistically and strategically gelled. Steve, in simple navy dress robes that resembles the Auror robes Sam was wearing but with ornamental designs in gold and silver thread. “Damn,” James says, halting as it finally hits him that it’s Steve’s wedding day.  _ Steven Grant Rogers _ is getting married. It’s tough enough for him to wrap his brain around that he has to stop a moment and think carefully about his next words. “You finally made it to the actual day, punk. Not long ago, we were practicing in Brooklyn where the only bride you had was Becca.”

 

“Shuddup, jerk,” Steve replies, beaming proudly. “Besides, would you have liked to have been your sister’s groom?” They both shudder in disgust before Steve goes quiet. “You know, I thought that more of us would have made it here.”

 

“Of us?” asks a confused James.

 

“You know,” replies Steve as he makes a vague, hand-wavey gesture. “Ma, Dad. Winnie, George. Even Becca. Instead, it’s just you and me.” A beat. “Funny how that works out.”

 

James decides not to make his comment about how it was almost going to be just Steve here if they hadn’t stumbled into each other in Diagon Alley months ago. Fate is a fickle, funny thing to reunite two best friends on the plainest of days. Instead, he asks, “Are you ready?”

 

“Ready?” Steve laughs, kinda high and anxious, and James gleans that he is, in fact, not ready.

 

“You’re not going to run out on me, Wilson, or Carter now, are you?” James jokes.

 

The other man’s face grows deadly pale. “Merlin, no,” he replies quickly. “I love Peggy. I want to be by her side for the rest of our lives. I want to be hers. Just got a bit of nerves.” He pauses briefly. “Besides, Nat would murder me. Peggy, Angie, and Sharon would help bury the body.” He glances up at James thoughtfully. “Have you ever loved anyone like this, James?”

 

The hesitation before his name implies that Steve was going to slip up and call him Bucky by accident, but at this point, James doesn’t even think he would mind. He already has Steve back; it’s just that he’s become quite accustomed to his birth name. He focuses on Steve’s question. “I thought I did. That I was going to be able to.”

 

Steve’s expression softens, though his eyes still shine with the same perceptive light that James became accustomed to during their childhood and likely makes Steve the excellent Auror that he is. “It was Daisy, wasn’t it?”

 

James snorts bitterly. “It was that obvious?” He doesn’t blame Daisy; he can’t. It’s like he recognized in the bar that day; they both have their own demons, and if her demons lead her to reject anyone who inches close to her, so be it. He can’t change that nor can he blame her for that. He can only acknowledge that he did, in fact, begin to love her before she shut him out.

 

Lips upturning in a slight smile, he nod. “That day in Diagon Alley, the way the both of you acted, you clearly weren’t ‘just friends.’”

 

“No,” James replies in a banal manner. “We were fucking.” He becomes suddenly conscious of himself as Steve’s eyes widen in astonishment, aware of his wand tucked carelessly in a pocket of his own dress robes - dug out from a trunk in his Gringotts vault, his hair a bit messy - newly cut but not all tamed by a hair potion, and his dress shoes - dragonhide and belonging to his late father, just a bit too small and squeezing his toes. 

 

Then Steve begins to chuckle almost manically. He wheezes once in a way that has James concerned for the asthma and other Muggle ailments that haven’t plagued Steve since they were kids. “I’m sorry,” he says in between gasps of air, chest heaving, still sounding amused. “I’m just remembering you in fifth-year, taking a different girl out every other weekend, especially to Hogsmeade. You were like the Wizarding, Gryffindor casanova.” A beat. “And now, you’re having romantic problems of your own. The irony.”

 

“You asshole,” James says and swiftly aims a kick at Steve’s leg who jumps out of the way. “That was like fifteen years ago.”  _ Plus, I don’t really remember much of it. Any of it _ . This last part, he doesn’t add, not wanting to bring down the mood on the day of Steve’s wedding, even though Steve already knows that.

 

“What happened?” Steve asks gently. “That is, if you don’t mind telling me.” A beat. “There really seemed like there was something between you two.”

 

Shrugging, he fiddles with his wand, tapping his fingers along the carved wood. “I thought I fell in love. She told me that I hadn’t. That’s really it. We haven’t talked since.” 

 

Steve winces in sympathy. Then his eyes spark up with confusion. “Wait. She told you that you didn’t love her?” 

 

He nods. “We’ve both got our demons. I didn’t really ever ask what was in her past; she didn’t really ever ask about mine. I gotta a feeling that her past affected her answer to me telling her that I love her.”

 

“You could talk to her again,” the other man suggests. “Don’t reason with her. Just try to find out why she would tell you that if she’s willing to explain.”

 

“I dunno.” James shrugs again, tracing a nonsensical pattern in the plush white carpeting with the toe of his dress shoe. “I’ll see.” He abruptly changes the topic. “You have to be out there in ten minutes, ready to marry the love of your life.”

 

It’s like they’ve come full-circle to the beginning topic of their conversation, and Steve chuckles in alarm. “Is anyone ever ready?” He chuckles again. “I love Peggy; I really do. I want to be hers.” A beat. “Just the thought of going out and declaring our love in front of fifty of our closest friends and relatives - including Peg’s parents and grandmother - is a little frightening, but that’s what love’s supposed to be. If it’s feels too comfortable, you’re not doing it right.”

 

A tendril of doubt creeps its way into James’ mind, wrapping itself around his brain. “Is that true? Is that really what love is like?”

 

Steve turns and fixes James with an unreadable look. “Did you know that Peggy and I separated briefly after the war?”

 

“ _ What _ ?” James says, taken back. That can’t be true; he’s seen the devotion in Peggy’s eyes when she glances at Steve, the adoration in Steve’s eyes when he glances at Peggy. Their love seems so unconditional, so perfect.

 

Having expected James’ reaction, Steve nods. “We weren’t always so communicative and familiar with each other. We had grown to know each other as a teenage couple, but at one point, we had to grow up. And we couldn’t do it together.” A beat. “After the war...after you left, I sorta...devoted everything to finding you. When I wasn’t at Auror training, I was following one of the many leads on you that my contacts managed to track down.” He scoffs. “The fact that I set up a network of contacts to find you should tell you all you need to know about how devoted I was to finding you.” Another beat. “Anyways, Peggy couldn’t take it anymore. She told me to get myself together and only come back when I could invest myself fully in our relationship.” He hesitates. “So I moved out for a few months, and we came back together after I finished Auror training.” 

 

James stands there, feeling like the world is falling around him. He spent so long away from his best friend, hoping to spare Steve the effects of his demons and suffering. In the end, he was still impacting Steve and hurting his relationship with Peggy despite being so far away, hidden deep in Romania. He opens and closes his mouth several times, not knowing what to say to make everything okay, to respond to Steve. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

 

Steve’s smile is stiff and slightly pained, but ultimately, he shakes his head. “That’s long gone in the past now. We can’t be upset over it forever, James.”

 

“What can I do, Steve?” James snaps angrily. “I made one fucking decision I thought would be better for everyone, and it ruined everything. Even your relationship.” He rakes a frustrated hand through his hair, wincing as it comes away with the remains of the hair potion.  “ _ So what can I do? _ ”

 

Sweeping forward, his dress robes swishing dramatically as he walks, Steve wraps him in a warm, brotherly embrace. Despite everything in their childhood, he ended up a few inches taller than James, so he ducks down his head so that he speak directly into James’ ear. “I made a mistake by telling you. Let it stay in the past where it belongs. Let everything stay in the past where it belongs. Peggy and I separating for a few months ten years ago is not your fault.” A beat. “ _ James, _ it is  _ not _ your fault.”

 

Burrowing his face in Steve’s warm neck, James sniffles slightly. “Looks like I somehow inherited your bullshit martyr complex. Who would have thought?”

 

“I’m sure our mothers likely had an inkling this would happen when we first started playing together,” Steve intones, barely a muscle in his face twitching in amusement.

 

Despite himself, James snorts. “You dumbass,” he sighs. “You fucking punk.” A beat. “What can I do?” This time, the question is asked gently, genuinely; if there’s anyone who knows what’s best for him, it’s someone who’s seen him his entire life. It’s his best friend.

 

Steve becomes silent, and it’s almost nerve wracking, waiting for the other man to finally speak again, but when he does, his words are level and imbued with softness. “Go back to Daisy,” he says. “Try to understand her perspective a bit more. Give her a second chance. See if her mind has changed, but respect her ultimate decision.”

 

“I dunno about,” James replies with a faint laugh. “Her response seemed a bit final when she said it weeks ago.”

 

Steve only pulls him in tighter into the embrace. “She’s a Gryffindor,” he says. “We aren’t known for cowardice. Sooner or later, she will face her demons, if she hasn’t already, and you might be able to help her.” A beat. “You seemed so happy with her and she with you. You both deserve happiness, it seems.” He ruffles James’ hair slightly. “Fight for her.”

 

“I’ll try,” James promises, and they finally separate from their embrace.

 

Stepping back, Steve tries to rub his hands together, grimacing. “Whatever you used in your hair was quite potent,” he complains.

 

“It was a hair potion,” James shoots back, chuckling distractedly as his mind goes to Daisy. 

 

Steve snorts. “You always were vain.”

 

At that moment, there’s a sharp rap at the door, and it swishes open to reveal an unimpressed Sam. “Your wedding ceremony starts in five minutes, Rogers,” he reminds them, his voice tinged with dryness. “Follow me.”

 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” Steve says in alarm, throwing one last glance at James.

 

“Go get married, punk,” James says, lips coming together in a proud smile. “I’ll still be here afterward.”

 

* * *

 

The wedding ceremony is beautiful, as it should be for two individuals as accomplished as Steve and Peggy. 

 

When James finally takes his seat in the second row of the arranged seats, he finds that he’s sandwiched between Peggy’s cousin Sharon - who, only three years younger, has blossomed into a gorgeous Auror trainee with her blond hair cut in a fashionable bob - and a wizard that James doesn’t recognize but must be a Ministry acquaintance of Steve. As James sits, Sharon shoots him a glance, and her expression becomes one of recognition, though it quickly recomposes itself into something of gratitude. Despite James’ presence, however, the wizard on his right does not cease his awkward flirting with the Carter witch. James has to fight a serious case of giggles; Natasha Romanoff - fiery-haired and in black silk and lace dress robes to match her insidious personality - is seated in the previous row, and judging from the many deadly glares she’s sending the wizard, Sharon Carter is resoundingly spoken for.

 

Clutching his wand hard, trying to control his laughter, James turns back to the gazebo where Steve waits on one side, Sam behind him, and the officiant center-stage. His best friend stands tall and proud, and despite his previous nervous demeanor with James, his expression is beaming and giddy. He really is ready to marry the love of his life. James wishes the same for himself one day.

 

Bells begin to chime along the aisle between the chairs, which softly and gently develops into a lovely wedding march. Slowly, heads turn toward the aisle as Peggy begins to walk down the aisle, escorted by both her mother and father on either arm and led by her best friend Angie Martinelli. She looks radiant, mahogany curls falling softly to frame her face, adorned with sprays of pearls and silver flowers. Her dress robes are silk and lace woven with little sparkling pearls and diamonds with lace sleeves and a rounded neckline. Her entire appearance is a little less practical than one would expect of Peggy Carter, but the elements are still there to be spotted: she wears low-heeled ivory shoes, her hair - still down - is kept resolutely out of her face, her skirts end just before her ankles and don’t sweep against the floor, and James catches a glimpse of her wand tucked between the folds of her robes. The only aspect that seems a bit too ornate is the ancient chain of diamonds with a silver oval locket that glitters around her throat, likely a family heirloom. Still, she looks every bit the powerful Headmistress of Hogwarts that she is but also like the young, bold girl he remembers from their own years there.

 

When she drifts down the aisle, surrounded by her family - even her dearly departed brother Michael who likely hangs in that locket, Steve glances at her like she’s hung the stars and the moon, and James thinks he  _ understands _ why Daisy said no, why she might fear something like love. He hopes that he can convince her to change her mind, because that feeling, that warmth, that burns brightly in his chest, that Peggy and Steve remind him of, he never wants that to die. No. He wants to share it forever. With Daisy.

 

When Peggy finally reaches the gazebo, Angie takes her place behind the bride, and the officiant begins the ceremony, giving a short speech about the resilience of the bride and the groom and how it reflects the resilience of the Wizarding world. James tries to shove the flickers of guilt that he feels away, focusing instead on the soft way that Peggy and Steve gaze at each other. Finally, the officiant turns to Steve and asks, “Steven Grant Rogers, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

 

“I do,” Steve says, and there is no hesitation, no waver, to his words. He turns to face his bride. “Peggy, the first time we actually met, I watched you deck Gilmore Hodge in the face.” The audience chuckles, and James’ heart warms as he finds himself smiling. “I want to say that I fell madly in love with you that day, but that would be a lie. I was twelve, but I did develop a bit of a lingering crush that many people can acquiesce to.”

 

“That’s right, Rogers,” someone yells from the back, and James recognizes the voice as belonging to Dum Dum, a flash of panic running through him. He hadn’t really thought over the fact that attending the wedding would bring him in proximity with his old friends, teammates, and classmates, and he’s not entirely sure if he’s ready for a reunion of that scale with the Commandos.

 

Steve huffs in laughter, calling, “Thanks, Dugan,” before returning his attention to Peggy. “The day I actually fell in love with you was in fourth-year, after we started dating, when you once again decked Hodge in the face in the corridor.” Once again, the audience erupts in laughter, and Peggy’s eyes gleam with mischief. Sighing, Steve hesitates just briefly, a shadow of sorrow dancing behind his eyes. “There are many people I wish who could have been here to see this day, my parents and your brother Michael included, but we have been through hell and back. We’ve lost many, but we’ve gained many friends we never thought possible.” A beat. “Regained a couple, in fact,” he says with a wry smile likely directed to James. “We’ve been by each other’s side through it all, and I want to stay by your side, and you by mine, for the next hundred years. Peggy Carter, I love you, and the world already fucking knows it. I can’t wait to start a family with you.” 

 

Several of the older guests gasp at Steve’s language, but James only chuckles. It’s exactly like the punk to swear in the face of propriety.

 

The officiant nods and turns to Peggy, who still looks as composed as ever, although her eyes have softened. “And do you, Margaret Elizabeth Carter, take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

 

Although irritation briefly flickers across her face at the use of her full name, Peggy nods. “It is just as you would, Steve, that you would horrify the guests at our wedding,” she begins amusedly. “I do. I do take you to be my husband, my partner, my equal in everything, including our life, love, marriage, and future family. I have loved you for many, many years that I do not even remember what it is like to not love you.”

 

Someone in the back loudly sniffs into their handkerchief, and several heads swivel towards them, but James keeps his attention fixed on the bride and groom. It is not to say that there isn’t a haze of tears beginning to prickle at his eyes and that he’s having a hard time keeping them at bay. 

 

Peggy continues, “Steve, you have many qualities that both endear you to me and irritate me, but one of your greatest qualities that I have always admired is your courage. You have extraordinary courage, even for any of us Gryffindors. Of course, you make up for it with your bullheadedness.” 

 

Here, James can’t help but quietly chuckle. He knows that in ordinary circumstances, Steve would be scowling, but the groom is openly weeping now. Peggy too has a trail of dampness down her cheeks. 

 

“The day I first noticed you,” she says, clearing her throat softly, “you challenged a professor on their academic policy, when everyone else was too terrified to, and although you landed several detentions and cost Gryffindor twenty points and the policy remained unchanged, I began to admire you.” A beat. “But what impressed me the most was that the day I punched Hodge, instead of rushing in to try and defend me, you complimented my form and asked me to teach you.”

 

James’ breath hitches; he didn’t know this. He was never around to see it. Steve must have asked after James hurried off to Quidditch practice but before the other boy hurried to catch up. Oh, Steve.

 

“You continued to impress me throughout the years we’ve been together, and there’s still days I learn something new about you. Falling in love with you was easy, but we’ve still struggled; every day we are together, the struggle is easier however,” Peggy says. “And I expect the rest of our days to be the same. Steven Grant Rogers, I love you, and I hope you continue to surprise me every day for the rest of our lives.”

 

As the officiant dictates, Steve and Peggy share a passionate kiss, but the ceremony is not over yet. The officiant raises his wand and binds them together with a vow similar to the Unbreakable, golden, shimmering threads briefly roping themselves around Steve and Peggy’s clasped hands. When the threads disappear, he raises his wand and waves it above the newly-married couple’s heads, showering them with faintly glowing stars.

 

The audience erupts into cheers, and James finds himself standing, tears flowing openly down his face now, as he wishes for the same with Daisy.

 

* * *

 

The reception is lavish and joyful, full of music and laughter, still in the garden, although with a great white tent propped up, but James, filled with a resolute passion to be by Daisy’s side and plead his case, is determined to leave as quickly as possible. He casts a privacy spell on himself to avoid notice by the other guests, especially his old friends - he will have to face them one day but not today, not right not, finally dropping it when he arrives before the happy couple.

 

Strangely enough, there is no one else waiting to greet them, everyone either grabbing food or on the dance floor, so Steve and Peggy sit quietly in a corner, hands clasped together, only straightening up when James appears before them.

 

He sweeps forward and grabs Steve in a tight embrace. “I’m so happy for you, punk,” he says, sniffling and knowing that his eyes are still red-rimmed.

 

“Thanks, jerk,” Steve says softly, and then he steps aside so that James can envelope Peggy in a similar hug.

 

When they finally separate, Peggy gives him a perceptive glance-over. “You’re not going to stay?” she asks, likely noting the way he’s poised on the balls of his feet.

 

“I’d love to,” James says, “but I’ve got something I need to do.” 

 

Steve shoots him a knowing look, though Peggy looks slightly bewildered. James guesses that Steve will likely explain when the madness of their wedding is over.

 

“Go get her, jerk,” Steve instructs, and James nods softly.

 

“I’ll try my damned best,” he promises.


	10. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During an emotional reunion, Daisy and James confess their love for each other and bare their souls.

There’s a soft knock at Daisy’s door, and she slowly moves to open it, unhurried. She doesn’t get a lot of visitors often, so she’s wondering who it can be but unmotivated to rush. When she finally gets her door open, unlocking it with flick of her hand and pulling it open, the world falls from below her feet. It’s who she’d least expect it to be, James Barnes.

 

“Holy shit,” she says softly. “Um…” Her eyes flickers up and down James, examining his elegant dress robes and the way his hair is neatly swept back, looking like it was recently cut. She can’t help it, but her heart quickens as she takes in the intense gaze of his stormy eyes and the arch of his exposed cheekbones. The jawline she’s always seen masked in scuff is clean and smooth and uncovered, and she notes with surprise that his wand is clutched solidly his side. “Don’t you look handsome?” 

 

Clearly taken aback, he chuckles lightly. “Um, thank you...You look nice too.” He hesitates briefly, eyes focusing on her face. “Wait, are you wearing makeup?”

 

She flushes. “Yeah.” She’d met with Fitz and Simmons earlier in the day at a nice restaurant and had forgotten to take it off. Then her eyes narrow as she becomes defensive. “Why?” There’s a bit of an edge to her tone. “What about it.”

 

Immediately, James backwheels, waving his hands dramatically. “Nothing,” he stutters. “It looks nice. It’s just different.” Panicking, he abruptly changes the subject. “Can I come inside?”

 

Silently, she steps aside to allow him entry, hands wringing almost nervously together as they ache to reach out to him, hold him. She wishes that she could even hold her wand to quell the rising oddness inside her, but it rests inside on her bedside table, and Summoning her wand would seem beyond awkward. Instead, they settle down on opposing couches in her small living room, and she gathers the courage to quietly ask, “How are you?”

 

“Thanks,” he says. He gestures a hand, the other curled in his lap and still clutching his wand like it’s a lifeline, towards himself and his dress robes. “I was at Peggy and Steve’s wedding.”

 

“Wait,” Daisy says, a spike of alarm running through her. “You left your best friend’s wedding to come talk to me?” At the thought of that, she feels a strange warmth flood her body, but she squashes it down.

 

“Yes.” James nods, breathing deeply. Then he launches right into it, knocking Daisy off-balance with his next words. “I love you. I definitely, with no doubt, love you, no matter what you say. I know my heart, and neither of us can deny it. I know you think that what’s between us is a form of codependency, but it never felt that way to me.”

 

After his little speech, all Daisy can respond with is a long “Fuck…” Can it be? Is the world finally taking pity on her, granting her what she wants? Is it giving her a second chance?

 

“Please say something,” James says, voice barely louder than a murmur. His eyes, when they focus on her, are too intense and pleading, and she has to look away.

 

Her voice pitches oddly. “Did you know that I finally visited Fitz and Simmons like you suggested?” she asks.

 

He looks bewildered by the change in subject. “Okay...that’s wonderful, Daisy. But what does that have to do…”

 

His voice dies down as she continues, “They told me multiple times that they forgave me for leaving and for the reasons I left, and they also reminded me of something.”

 

“Of what?” James asks, his eyes intent on her. He must be brisling with the need for her response, but she understands that he truly cares for her when his expression contorts in concern and he smiles softly.

 

Once again, she changes the subject, and James sighs in frustration. “I was in love once. And it was only once before. His name was Lincoln. He was a Ravenclaw, in your year, I think. You may remember him.” She glances over at James, and he nods quietly. “He was wonderful, caring, clever, funny. He was my first love, and I killed him. Even if it was indirectly.” 

 

“Daisy,” James begins quietly. “I don’t know what to say, but I think I might be beginning to understand.”

 

Daisy cuts him off, standing and beginning to pace. “No, you haven’t understood yet. I loved him, and I might have been his end, but I suffered with that guilt for ten years. Fitz and Simmons helped me understand that it wasn’t all my fault and that I am deserving of love. I haven’t forgotten Lincoln, but he doesn’t haunt me anymore; I have understood that there is room in my heart for someone besides him.” She levels a tender glance at James, hoping that it says everything her words can’t. “I’ve learned that I can love again, and I love you, James Barnes. I’ve lived with that for a few weeks, thinking that that love would never get its chance, but here you are again, so I need to tell you again. I was wrong before when I said you don’t love me. You love me, and I love you. I hope you can give me a chance even after I’ve already broken your heart once.”

 

James stands, and the distance between them feels like miles, but he crosses it quickly, pulling her into his arms. She rises on her toes as he ducks his head, and then their lips collide together in an explosion of sparks, magic, and other sensations that Daisy cannot even describe in words. It’s wonderful, the type of kiss that can sweep someone off their feet and make them feel weak at their knees; James’ lips are soft but firm against hers, and she pours all her heart and soul into kissing him back in equal ferocity and passion, winding a hand in his hair, wrecking the style it was parted into. They’ve kissed before, especially when they’ve fucked, but it’s never been like  _ this _ , indescribable, magical. When they finally separate, James’ hand gently brushing the curve of her neck, it feels like she’s stopped breathing. She has an incessant need to be in his arms again.

 

“Wait,” he says, but with his lips bruised like that, she can only focusing on kissing him again. Then his hand cups her chin, and their eyes meet; she shivers, aware of herself immediately. “I need to tell you something. Before this goes further.”

 

“Can it wait?” she asks gently, trying to step subtly towards him. 

 

“I don’t want you to regret this later,” he says, voice stern, a shadow of sadness to his eyes.

 

Daisy snorts. “I doubt I’ll ever regret this.” Still, she takes a seat again, straightening up.

 

James sits besides her and takes her hands in his grasp, turning towards her.

 

“I’m the Winter Soldier,” he says simply, and the shadows in his eyes deepen and darken.

 

“What?” she says, not understanding at first. Then from the depths of her mind, the name he said draws consciousness. The Winter Soldier, the first of Hydra, the deadly assassin the Wizarding world has ever seen. They’d claimed more than fifty lives during the war, including Howard and Maria Stark. Her mind finally registers what he said. “I’m sorry, what the  _ fuck _ ?”

 

He flinches back, immediately releasing her hands, but she doesn’t snatch them back, instantly regretting how she reacted. “Yeah,” he says, nodding gently. “That’s my biggest demon.”

 

Daisy flits back through all their interactions, all their talks about demons, finally settling on the memory when he’d asked her to help him perform magic again.  _ I want to feel like that again about magic, remember how wonderful it was when it was being used as a weapon, when I wasn’t being used as a weapon _ , he’d said. Then she thought it’d been fucking ironic and unlikely, that the world would be too cruel to have her meet someone who’d gone through she had, but now, she thinks it’s more likely, that it’s true.  _ It’s not cruel _ , she decides; it’s not cruel that she fell in love with the one person who’s capable of understanding her own demons. It feels more like luck, and Daisy’s never felt so damn lucky in her whole life. 

 

She must have spent too much time in her own head, because when she glances up, James’ eyes are unreadable. His grip on his wand has become white-knuckled. Quickly, Daisy thinks of how to react, and finally, she asks, “Who was it?”

 

“What?” he asks, and it’s his turn to falter as his expression becomes startled.

 

“Who turned you into a weapon?” she asks, hoping he understands from her tone. 

 

“What do you mean?” He looks like he’s disbelieving, that it can’t possibly be true…

 

“You weren’t the only one they turned into a weapon,” she confirms, tears glimmering and prickling at the corners of her eyes. “We really do have the same demons.”

 

“It was Pierce,” he finally sighs, inching forward to press by her side. “It was Pierce who ruined my life. Pierce and Rumlow.”

 

“He got what was coming for him,” Daisy says, an edge to her voice. “It was Ward for me.” She hesitates. “It makes sense now, a bit more, some of your past and the way you act. Your aversion to magic.”

 

James turns his head away, becoming bitter. “That didn’t happen to you.”

 

“Hey,” she says gently, cupping his jaw and bringing his face back towards her. She leans forward to peck his lips softly. “You can’t compare suffering. No one’s suffering is greater than anyone else’s. Just because I didn’t become averse to magic doesn’t mean that I reacted any better or worse than you did. I became borderline alcoholic for a few years. I still struggle with it sometimes.” A beat. “There was a spell.” She pauses, gathering her words. “There was a spell I came up with, and it was deeply personal to me. I worked on it for years. When Ward ordered me to fight, I used it. I caused maximum destruction, because under Ward’s instructions, I couldn’t hold any of my power back or even control the spell.” Her voice breaks as she continues, “I knocked Lincoln off the Astronomy Tower with that spell, so don’t say my suffering wasn’t as bad as yours. We both suffered.”

 

“I’m sorry,” James says, taking her hands in his again. “Peggy and Steve keep trying to tell me that it wasn’t my fault. I think that I’m getting closer to believing them.”

 

“As do Leo and Jemma,” Daisy responds quietly, chuckling. “What a pair we are?”

 

“With the same fucking demons,” he agrees. “Really rolled the die on that one.”

 

“We were better at Hogwarts,” she says, musing, running through all their interactions. “Did you know we kissed once?”

 

Only by the slight widening of his eyes, she can tell that he might have some memory of the event. “Vaguely,” he says, confirming her belief. “Don’t remember it well enough. Can you remind me?”

 

“It was under a mistletoe,” she says, “and it was like  _ this _ .” She leans forward to press her lips gently to his, but it doesn’t remain the gentle kiss they shared that one Christmas all those years ago for long. Quickly, the sexual tension between them increases like it was a spark that their kissing lit, and she finds herself straddling James’ lap as he lounges on the couch, their lips moving together furiously. As her hand scrabbles against his chest, attempting to find a way to divest him of his dress robes, his own hand snakes under her loose shirt, finding its way to the clasp of her bra and struggling with it. Just as he manages to grasp it, she stiffens. “Wait, wait,” she says, gently pushing him off and climbing to his feet. 

 

His expression is one of concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately. “What did I do?”

 

Warmth flickers up in her at his reaction. “Nothing,” she responds with a shake of her head. “Just promise me that we’ll have an actual conversation about all of this later.”

 

He nods enthusiastically. “I promise.”

 

“Good,” she replies. “One final thing.” She rises to her toes to press her lips to his ear. “We’re not fucking on my couch,” she croons. “Meet you in the bedroom.” Giggling, she darts away while James groans before quickly following.

 

* * *

 

They’re rid of their clothes pretty quickly, and then James tosses her on the bed and climbs above her; Daisy finds herself clutching at his messy hair desperately as his mouth starts at her neck and trails lower and lower. Unlike other times they’ve fucked, he spends time lavishing attention on her body, mouthing at her breasts as she bites her lip. He finally closes his mouth around her nipple, and she nearly squeaks, a sound most unlike her, at the warmth of the inside of his mouth. He sucks once, twice, and an urgent throbbing begins between her legs as her pussy begins to gather wetness. She resist the need to reach her own hand there and rub her clit. “Fuck,” she sighs as he takes her other nipple into his mouth, the sudden change in temperature and sensation to cause her neglected one to harden to a point. Just as he’s about to drags his mouth against the underside of her breasts, an area he’s learned to be one of her most sensitive, Daisy yanks his head up savagely - his deep groan of desire reveals just how much he appreciates that - and claims his mouth ferociously. “Enough of that,” she demands. “We’ll have all the time in the world for that later. Just fuck me right now.”

 

James chuckles but obeys. He reaches his hands down between Daisy’s legs, ghosting gently over her thighs and cradling them, tracing the faint, silvery lines of her stretch marks. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her, meeting her gaze, half-genuine, half-just saying it to irritate her. 

As he likely expected, she growls in frustration. “Either put your hands on my pussy, and fill me up with your cock, or I will spell you to this bed and ride you until you cry,” she snaps.

 

His eyes darken with lust. Clearly, her threat checks off a lot of boxes for him. “We can do that one day,” he promises before finally -  _ finally _ \- parting her legs with his hands, making just enough space so that he can clamber into the gap and align their bodies. Obeying her, he does in fact put a hand on her pussy, swiping a loose finger between the soaking folds and gathering moisture on the tip. He then pops said finger in his mouth seductively and licks her wetness from his skin, maintaining fierce eye contact with her until she whines.

 

“You  _ fucker _ ,” she says, toeing him slightly in the side.

 

Despite all her frustration and complaining, he only smirks. Then he reaches down between his own legs and grasps his cock, still slightly soft in his hand. He strokes himself, using his own precome to ease the roughness, twisting his hand a bit towards the base and flicking his thumb over his head, hissing slightly at the contact. “Fuck,” he says, and his eyes flicker shut as he strokes himself faster.

 

Before he becomes caught up in his own pleasure, she nudges him slightly in the side with her foot again. “You had one job,” she says, too distressed to mind the whine to her tone. The wetness of her pussy is nearly unbearable, and she fucking  _ aches _ . She needs something,  _ anything _ , to fill her up, and she’s not too far from Summoning one of her own dildos - one of the best Muggle inventions ever - to fulfill her need.

 

Humming, James opens his eyes and strokes himself once last time. Then he moves forward, grasps himself to line up his head with the slick lips of her pussy, and sinks in, completely sheathing himself in her. They both hisses in unison, James at the sudden, tight warmth around his cock and Daisy as the walls of her pussy stretch to accommodate him inside her. No matter how many times he penetrates her, it’s always an addicting sensation that causes her eyes to roll back into her head.

 

“You feel so  _ fucking good _ squeezing down on me like that,” James says, and Daisy responds with a smirk.

 

“I know,” she says, and then her walls clench down tightly on him again. He presses his lips tightly together and begins to move. 

 

He doesn’t pull all the way out, only enough that he can buck his hips forward gently, starting with shallow thrusts. He sheathes himself completely again, only  _ just  _ pressing against her most sensitive spot, and she shivers, electricity racing up her spine,

 

“Move faster,” she demands. She’s in the mood  _ to get fucked hard _ . 

 

“I think not,” he says before lowering himself above her, leaning on one propped-up hand, using the other to cradle the base of her neck gently. He drops his head to kiss her tenderly, and they hold intense eye contact, brown clashing with stormy.

 

What they do is not  _ fuck _ . No, in fact, it is the total opposite. James makes love to her, touching her, worshipping her, lavishing her with attention in a way she’s never felt before. It’s not lacking in passion in any way, gentle, tender, sweet, and amazing. It’s one of the most romantic moments of her life.

 

James never thrusts any faster, moving in and out of her at a slow pace that would frustrate her and drive her to tears if he wasn’t affectionately trailing his thumb across the delicate hollows of her under eyes. He cradles the base of her skull, mindful of tugging too roughly at her loose hair.

 

Their eyes never tear apart from each other, and Daisy reaches up to curl her own hand around his neck to gently pull him closer,  _ needing  _ to feel the warmth of his skin brushing against hers. She  _ needs  _ him to be closer to her; no, she craves it. As he moves slowly inside her, her emotions threaten to overwhelm her as she shudders and shivers in his grasp. She needs to feel him in, not just sexually. She doesn’t think she can bear a moment apart from him; she can feel it in her bones, in her heart. If she could, she reach inside of him and take hold of his soul, tugging it as close to her as they could possibly bear. But that’s not possible, so she settles for the next best thing as his cock brushes against her sensitive walls,  _ filling her up _ , connecting her as deep as one can be connected to a human being, and she shivers. “I love you,” she says, gasping it as his hand on her face travels down to carefully tweak nipples. She hopes her eyes convey her affection and love, her gaze soft despite her eyes being blown wide with lust.

 

He hears her and smiles brightly, beaming. In that moment, Daisy thinks that he’s never looked as handsome as now. “I love you too, Daisy Johnson,” he croons into her ear as he ducks his head down. He increases his pace in only the slightest. “I fucking love you, and I can’t believe you love me too.”

 

Hearing  _ that _ really never gets old, and Daisy laughs softly, the sound hitching in her throat as James hits her most sensitive spot again. She whines quietly, eyes fluttering shut, grateful for a moment away from the intensity of James’ eyes. She’s  _ never  _ felt so loved, so worshipped. Like she’s a goddess and James is her devotee.

 

“Fuck,” James says, burying his face in the arch of her neck. She threads a hand through his hair and keeps him close.

 

They continue at that slow, tender pace of lovemaking, and when James orgasms, he comes with her name on his lips. It’s the sweetest  _ Daisy _ has ever sounded. Then he gets to work wringing her own orgasm out of her using his clever mouth, and she gasps his name when she comes.

 

“I love you,” she gasps again as she pants, recovering from her orgasm.

 

“I love you too,” he says. He wraps an arm around the length of her shoulders, pulling her close into his side. They cuddle there in her bed, heads nestled together on one pillow, a sheet loosely draped over between. They’re cold, Daisy’s skin raises in goosebumps as she shivers, but all the blankets have landed on the floor, and no one is willing to reach down and spread it over them. Despite all this, it is a moment Daisy wishes to preserve in her mind forever.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight drifts in through the lacy white curtains that frame the small bedroom window, casting a wonderful, warm glow on the two lovers who remain entangled in each other’s arms. 

 

Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last forever as Daisy eventually stirs, bewildered when she finds herself in the warm embrace of a solid body. For a moment, she remains frozen, gaze travelling to where her wand lays on the bedside table, never having been lifted from yesterday. Then all the memories - all the wonderful moments of their confessions to each other and their lovemaking - come flooding back, and Daisy smiles softly, her heart brimming with happiness. With the morning comes the start of something new, and she wants to begin it the best she can.

 

She slips gently from James’ grasp, lifting and lowering his arm so that it wraps around a pillow - she laughs as she realizes that in his sleepy state, he can’t seem to tell the difference. Wrapping her robes around herself, she tiptoes to her kitchen, grabbing her wand as she moves, and casts a few spells to muffle the noise so it won’t reach the bedroom. Magically guiding the ingredients, she cracks a few eggs in the pan and fries some bacon, pouring milk into two glasses and almost tipping a glass by knocking it over with the floating milk carton. Finally, when the food is ready and the kitchen is filled with the delicious smell of cooking, she arranges it as artfully as she can on two plates and hovers it over to her little kitchen table. She cleans it and clears it with a flick of her wand before settling the plates and glasses on the surface. In a final and sentimental touch, she Summons a dusty vase from a cupboard, cleans it off quickly, fills it with water, and Conjures a couple of flowers to slip inside, settling the vase between the two plates. Of course, a few of those flowers are daisies.

 

After a few moments, James pads gently into the kitchen, hair all ruffled from last night’s activities and from sleep, the sheet pulled around him like a toga. In the direct sunlight, his beauty takes her breath away, and he really could be one of the Roman or Greek gods. “Good morning,” he says, sweeping hair from the back of her neck and pressing gentle kisses there, his actions filling Daisy’s stomach with butterflies. Finally, he brushes his lips against hers. “I love you,” he tells  _ oh so sweetly _ .

 

Already, it’s the perfect morning just hearing those words, and her heart swoops. “I love you too,” she tells him, and she can imagine saying those words for the rest of her life. But they should start small first; they should start with today. “I made breakfast.” She gestures to her handiwork.

 

“I noticed,” he says teasingly but still ducks his head to press a sweet kiss to her cheek before dropping into a chair. “Thank you.” The sheet remains draped around him; sadly, it never drops to give her a peek of his irresistible chest or even his impressive arms. He must have a fixed it with a Sticking Charm to taunt her. 

 

She takes a seat opposite him, gazing at his eyes, noting how they sparkle beautifully in the morning light. 

 

They both eat quickly, having worked up quite the appetite, not only from their lovemaking but also from the fact that the last meal James ate was breakfast yesterday - he admits shyly to Daisy later that he didn’t eat at the reception, too eager to get to Daisy. It’s also so wonderful, just the two of them in close proximity, their forks clinking against the plates, and she loves it. Loves  _ him _ . She’ll never get tired of hearing those words or saying those words.

 

“What do you want to do today?” she asks him once they are done eating and she’s directing the dishes to be washed in the sink. 

 

“Anything,” James says dramatically, “as long as it’s with you.”

 

Ensuring that the dishes are still washing themselves, she turns her attention to him and socks him gently on the arm. “Idiot,” she says affectionately.

 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he replies, catching her wrist and pulling her close to him, into his embrace. He clearly remembers the effect that his pet names have on her, and she shivers in his grasp, trying to focus on just how  _ unfair  _ he’s being instead on leaning into his warmth. “I just want to stay besides you. Nothing else matters.”

 

“You fucking charmer,” she says, leaning up to peck him on the lips. “I love you.” She pulls herself out of his grasp and saunters away to her closet to gather clothes to shower and get ready for the day. She knows that he’ll follow and slip inside the stall with her; she’s counting on that. Maybe they’ll just spend all of today longuing, and she’s fine with that. They can maybe go out for a fancy dinner later in the evening. It doesn’t matter when or where as long as whatever she does is with James; she relates to him on that. 

 

Of course, just because they made dramatic confessions of love doesn’t mean that everything is alright or that everything will be better immediately. She and James are too broken people who have somewhat managed to knit themselves back together and fall in love. But they still have lingering demons to battle. Nothing will be easy or immediate. After all, dying is easy; it’s where all their ghosts remain. Dying is easy, but living is harder, but it is much smoother with James by her side. In the end, she can see him by her side forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) to let me know how much you liked this fic or request a prompt. Comments and kudos would be nice too! Also, follow me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik).


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